Chuck Versus The Man Who Never Was-The Third Arc
by WvonB
Summary: What would have happened if things had gone a different way? The way a certain General had planned?
1. Never Was-Third Arc Prologue

_A/N: This idea came to me while in the middle of writing Never Was. If I'd thought of it earlier, that story wouldn't have had just two arcs; it would've had three. If you've read Never Was, I think you'll understand where this arc is coming from quite quickly. If you haven't, I suggest you do so (at least the Bartowski arc). Otherwise, it might be tough to figure out what's happening here. (Although, the next chapter of this story will be helpful as well.)_

 _I'm calling this a "what if?" story. What if "evil" Beckman's plan for our hero had worked the way she'd planned? What might have happened to our characters afterwards?_

 _Hope you'll enjoy this third take._

 _Thanks as always to my great beta, michaelfmx._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al. Do this for fun. (And for your insightful comments!)_

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

PROLOGUE

John Casey lets out another loud curse as his car once again bottoms out on the piece of crap road that some sociopathic mapmaker had laughingly designated as a graded gravel surface. He imagines the bespectacled little puke sitting behind his desk, tittering to himself the whole time as he thinks about how many unwary travelers he's sent to their doom.

He sure as hell won't be laughing if Casey ever gets a hold of him. For a few moments, the Major gleefully visualizes grabbing the little maggot by the scruff of his neck and dragging him down this very road, personally introducing him to each individual pothole. Face first.

Absorbed in his happy thoughts, he almost misses the GPS waypoint. Slamming on the brakes, the car grinds to a halt on the loose gravel, the cloud of dust he'd been stirring up behind him engulfing the car for a few seconds.

After the dust settles, he opens the door and steps out. Craning his neck, he spots the roof of the cabin, high up on the hill, a few hundred yards away.

Studying what might be charitably called the driveway, he realizes there's no way his car will make it up there.

"Damn!"

Fortunately, he'd come prepared for a bit of a hike, so he goes to the trunk and takes out the small backpack and his heavy jacket. This high up, the temperature can drop quickly, and he doesn't want to take any chances. After all, he has no idea what kind of reception he'll get. Might be frosty in more ways than one. And, for all he knows, he might be hoofing it back to the car in the dark, so also checks his flashlight.

Sighing a little, he slips on the jacket and, after settling the backpack, starts trekking up the steep hill.

But not before he locks his car and sets the alarm. Casey hadn't seen another human being for the last fifty miles or so, but he's not about to take any chances with his beloved Crown Victoria.

…

Puffing a little, (which he blames on the altitude) he crests the hill, coming around a large boulder. As he does, he's suddenly confronted by two small dogs, a shorthaired yellow one with floppy ears and a smaller, long-haired black and white mutt.

They both bristle at him, growling as they stand between him and the cabin. He takes a step closer, and they bare their teeth.

The tall woman standing twenty feet away makes no effort to calm them down, so Casey calls out to her, "Hey, Walker, you wanna call off your hellhounds before I punt them into the next county?"

She scowls, but then firmly orders, "Ed, Chase, come here!" Both dogs obey, but not before giving Casey a last threatening growl.

She points to a couple of dog beds on the front porch. "Lie down." Settling in, they nonetheless keep their eyes on Casey.

He comes closer, stops a few feet away from her. Drily, he remarks, "Thanks. I was so scared that I was just about ready to wet myself."

She doesn't smile, just bluntly asks, "Why are you here?"

"What? No, how are you doing, Casey? No, who's the president now? No, what have you been doing with yourself the last six months since I disappeared?"

Sarah doesn't change her expression, just continues to stare menacingly in his direction.

Casey just ignores her. "Especially since I came all this way to see you. That road's a bitch, by the way."

"Helps to keep away unwanted visitors," she pointedly replies.

He grunts. "I can see how it would."

She makes no comment.

He looks around. "Nice place you got here." The log cabin is small but neat looking, probably only a single room. Small windows on the two sides he can see. Steeply sloped green metal roof, for the snow he guesses. Chimney on the far side. Wood stacked neatly under the eave.

Something nags at him until he finally realizes what isn't there. "Damn, Walker. You don't even have electricity."

She shakes her head. "Don't find I have much use for it."

"No wonder you're so hard to find. You really _have_ dropped off the grid."

"How _did_ you find me?"

Casey tilts his head towards the somewhat battered, camouflaged vehicle sitting under a nearby tree. "You probably should've swapped your Porsche for a slightly less conspicuous vehicle than an ex-British army Defender. Next time, you might want to buy American. It'd blend in better."

"It gets me where I need to go."

"I'm sure it does. I saw your driveway."

She frowns, apparently impatient for him to get to the point.

He obliges her. "So, I had the tech geeks watch for vehicle registrations. When your ex-Porsche finally popped up, I went and had a little discussion with the new owner. He showed me some photos of his old beast. I left it at that, but about a month ago I put out a BOLO. Two weeks ago a deputy sheriff saw a vehicle like it in that town three hours down the road. Noticed an attractive blonde woman driving around town, picking up supplies. I checked it out. Got a hold of a credit card receipt, saw the name and knew it was you."

He pauses. "Lisa Charles? Were you trying to get caught?"

"Nothing to get caught for, Casey. I've done nothing wrong. Just decided I wanted to retire early."

"Yeah, sure, but still?"

She's firm. "I had my reasons."

He doesn't press her any further. "I was pretty sure you were out here somewhere. So I talked one of my ex-Marine buddies into tasking a satellite to photograph the area on its regular passes. Nothing until two days ago. Then we got a shot of a tall blond woman engaging in some target practice."

Casey looks around and spots a bale of hay with a target pinned to its side. "Nice grouping. Good to see you're keeping up your skills."

"Yeah, well you never know when you might need those same skills to deal with undesirables. Like door-to-door salesmen, bears and an ex-partner, who, I assume, is still working for a certain red-haired general."

"Yep, but taking some personal time right now." He glances around. "Been mulling over the idea of retiring myself. Maybe something like you've got here. Do some fishing and hunting. No dogs, though."

Sarah snorts. "The only way you'll retire is feet first."

He grunts. "Probably right."

"How did you know it was me?"

"You should probably think of changing your hair color. Kinda stands out. Amazing detail nowadays. Could even tell it was your brand of sidearm. Your vehicle was under a tree, but late afternoon light cast enough of a shadow to tell what it was. Shadows also gave us your approximate height, around five nine. Couldn't see the face, but it was pretty easy to put two and two together."

She glares at him. "So you decided to come all this way just to say hello. That right?"

He doesn't answer, just studies the woman standing before him. Her face is drawn, devoid of makeup, a little thinner than he recalls. Her hair is substantially longer than the last time he saw her, gathered into a loose ponytail that hangs halfway down her back. She's plainly dressed in jeans, plaid shirt, down vest, grey knit cap, and substantial boots.

All in all, an almost unrecognizable version of the woman he'd worked with for all those years.

He sweeps his hand around. "Is this enough for you, Walker?"

She's terse. "Yes. And you're avoiding my question. Why are you here?"

He ignores her again, looks her straight in the face. "It's just that you don't appear to be very happy, stuck up here all by your lonesome."

She avoids his gaze, looking off into the distance. "I've got my dogs. My books. It's enough."

Casey pauses for few seconds before asking, somewhat dubiously, "You sure about that?"

She nods. "So once again, why—"

He cuts her off. "Ellie misses you."

Something flashes across her face, an expression that comes and goes so quickly, that those who didn't know her as well as he does would likely never even notice it.

A longing? A hunger for something gone?

He's not sure, so simply waits for her reply.

After a few seconds pass, he realizes she's not going to speak first, so he answers her unspoken question. "Had to be in Burbank to shut down a couple of things. Dropped in just to say hello. They're doing as well as can be expected, in case you were wondering. Same for Morgan. I didn't tell them I was trying to find you. Didn't want to get their hopes up."

"Ellie knows why I can't see her."

"Yeah, she does, but that doesn't change how she feels about you."

She looks down, studying the ground at her feet. "I can't, Casey. I can't go back there. There's just too many…" her voice trails off.

"Hey, I understand. But staying up here can't be good for you, either."

"It's all I can manage right now."

Casey thinks he can hear the desperation, the pleading in her voice, so drops the subject.

"OK. I get it."

They stand, silent for a few moments, seemingly both unsure of what to say next.

Then, in an apparent attempt to sound chipper, she asks, "Do you want some coffee? Just made it fresh. It'll help keep you awake on that long drive back to town."

He nods. "Sure. Sounds good."

She turns suddenly, her ponytail swinging wide as she heads for the door.

She's only taken a few steps, when Casey softly calls out, "Sarah."

That stops her in her tracks.

"He's alive."

Casey sees her shoulders suddenly slump, almost as if her whole body is collapsing in on itself. A few seconds pass before she speaks, so quietly that he has to strain to hear her words.

"Don't. Just…don't. We've been through this far too many times already. All the rumors, all the conspiracy theories. He's gone. I'm doing my damnedest to accept it and so should you."

"No, Sarah. No theories, no rumors this time. He's alive. I know it's true."

She turns to him, her eyes wide, searching his face as if looking for signs of truth. Or untruth. He's not sure which.

"How? How could you know?"

"We had coffee together. He had no idea who I was."

She gasps, her hand over her mouth, sudden tears at the corners of her eyes.

"That's why I'm here. I think it's about time for you and me to go and rescue the poor sap.

"Again."

TBC

— _A/N: Please tell me what you think. Really appreciate reviews (even the ones that point out things I could've done better.)_

 _I think I may have may have lost a few of you when I was so late finishing Never Was. While there may be a week or two between chapters here, (I'm no Zettel) I won't leave you hanging as long as last time._

 _BTW if you haven't yet read Zettel's "Cables to Aces", I highly recommend you do so._


	2. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter One

_A/N:So, we've seen a little bit of what Casey and Sarah have gone through. Now it's time to find about Him. This chapter will tell us what could've happened when Chuck woke up in the hospital. If he had no reason to say Her name. If the conversation with Beckman had taken the turn that is laid out in this chapter. If General Diane Beckman (boo, hiss!) was really, really evil._

 _Let's move our story to a small city in the midwest._

 _Thanks to micahelfmx for his suggestions and corrections. Any errors are mine._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al. Just do this for fun._

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 1

 _One month ago._

"Goooood morrrning, Casper! It's going to be a beautiful day! Clear skies with temps in the high 70's. Even though it's officially the first day of fall, it seems like summer just doesn't want to let go. Oh, cruel, cruel summer, you're just teasing us, making us think winter is still far, far away! Speaking of cruel, cruel summer here's an oldie—"

He reaches over and blindly slaps at the clock radio, missing the off button twice before thankfully killing the annoying voice mid-sentence. Groggy, his first thought is that the radio jock is certainly no Robin Williams.

Prying one eye open, he sees it's 7:33 am. Time to get up and start another day. Another boring day. Another boring, safe day.

Not that he should be complaining. After all, he's gotten his wish. He's paying his dues for what he, what his creation, had done to those four volunteers, destroying their minds, their very being. And, as well, he's been proven right. The Intersect does work.

Shortly after he'd awoken at the hospital, General Beckman had come to his bedside. He'd been touched by her concern, by her taking time to be there for him even with her incredibly busy schedule.

But he'd been puzzled, didn't have any idea why he was there, and no one had been willing to fill him in. He didn't appear to be hurt or sick, so had asked her what was going on.

She'd told him that he'd suffered a mental breakdown brought on by a combination of physical exhaustion and guilt. She'd informed him how he'd worked, literally night and day, to rectify the shortcomings of the Intersect. All on his own.

At that moment, it'd come back to him that he'd always been that way. As a loner, he'd never really trusted anyone else, had always hugged the intricacies of his project to himself. He'd always kept his distance from those who, out of necessity, he'd had to share some of the workload with. In fact, he'd barely known the names of the people in his section. Had been curt, unforgiving of their errors. Wary of those who had tried to be friendly, always suspicious of their motives, afraid of being betrayed as he'd so often been before.

The General had then told him of his petition to take on the Intersect himself after he'd found that he'd been the only one who had the right mindset to survive it. It had all been a little fuzzy to him at first, but as she went on, more and more of it came back to him.

How she'd, at first, refused his request outright, restating his value to Project Omaha. However, eventually she'd reluctantly agreed, but only if he could rework the Intersect to the point that he could guarantee its safety.

So he'd thrown himself into it, headfirst, plagued by his lack of success. Yes, guilt over what had happened to the test subjects had been a large part of it, but there was also the embarrassment. He hated the thought that others might come to look at him as a failure, a washout. He'd desperately wanted their approval.

The immediate past had been less clear to him, so he had depended on Beckman to fill in those gaps.

She'd gone on to tell him that after a number of months, he'd finally told her it was done, that he was ready for the download. But then had come the collapse and the five days of unconsciousness at the CIA/NSA medical facility just outside of DC.

He had now, however, after extensive tests, been cleared to proceed with the download, if that remained his wish. He'd quickly agreed, driven by the motives known to her and those he held privately in his heart.

Beckman had acknowledged his choice, but had told him they would need to remove him to another location before carrying out the procedure. Just that morning, it had come to her attention that security at the hospital had likely been compromised.

He'd been whisked away that very night, under very tight guard. He'd never even seen any of the staff on his way out and had noticed that none of the cameras in the hallways appeared to be functioning. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to the doctors and nurses who'd taken care of him. He'd actually gotten along very well with them, especially one of the nurses, a Karen Green, who'd been there when he'd first awoken. It had surprised him that he'd hit it off with her and the others, that he'd been friendly and outgoing, unlike the way he remembered himself being.

Maybe the satisfaction of succeeding, along with the rest he'd gotten, had mellowed him somewhat. He hadn't been sure, and even down to this day, it still puzzles him from time to time. However, he did recognize this new him had made the transition to his new life in Casper much easier.

The necessity of which Beckman had explained the night they'd moved him to a secure location. The doctors had come to the conclusion that simply locking him in a bunker wouldn't have produced the desired results. Charles' psych profile had indicated that he needed to lead a relatively normal life in order for the Intersect to function well.

She'd then informed him that the NSA ran an Internet chatter listening post, disguised as a local ISP, in Casper, Wyoming. Far enough removed from the mainstream that he'd likely never run into anyone from his past. It was also extremely unlikely that anyone from Fulcrum would ever think the Intersect (if they even believed it really existed) would be in such an out of the way place. It would be a safe place for him to settle.

He would be given charge of the ISP, running it as an actual business (which it was) and performing his Intersect duties whenever required (which as the boss he could do.)

Although all of the staff were NSA personnel, the Intersect's existence was not to be revealed to them. That particular bit of information was well above their pay grade. And none of them had been in a position to know of Charles Carmichael.

Not that he would be known as that any longer. Charles Carmichael would become Charles McNeil.

And so it had happened. He'd downloaded his Intersect with no problems at all. Then they'd moved him to Casper and settled him into a nice condo downtown, within walking distance of work.

He'd quickly settled into his routine. Each morning after breakfast, he'd walk to work. After checking with his staff for any overnight issues, he'd retreat to his office and go over the intel delivered to his private, heavily encrypted mailbox.

As he perused the material, he would make note of anything that he flashed on, whether it was photos, decoded messages or even newspaper articles which had been deemed suspicious. Then he'd pass everything on to General Beckman for her to use as she saw fit.

He didn't, however, pass on that the Intersect seemed to have these occasional odd gaps. Once he'd flashed on a French arms dealing ring, which, in turn, had led him to flash on another group which had preceded the current one. That previous group had been eliminated by an Agent Ilana Truffaut, a name which had sounded vaguely familiar. However, aside from the name, there was nothing in his flash about her. Just a blank hole, an empty space. That sort of thing hadn't happened very often, but he'd been embarrassed that it did, had wondered if this was a defect of his program, so decided to hold off telling Beckman until he could figure out what was going on.

Although it certainly wasn't the way that he'd visualized the Intersect being utilized, (he'd often had dreams where he wound up personally facing dangerous situations and helped to put the bad guys away) it had proven quite effective. Beckman, from time to time, would tell him of the many successes that had resulted from his intelligence.

But she'd also told him that his input had to be heavily disguised, attributed to many and varied sources, in order not to betray the location or even the existence of the Intersect. As long as no one except the General and a very select few knew where the intel really came from, he would remain safe.

And he _was_ safe. But he was also bored, this morning being just another in a long line of almost identical mornings. Eleven months worth of them, in fact.

Looking out his front window, he's once again a reminded that Casper is a nice, small city. The people are friendly and, once he'd gotten used to the western culture and the seemingly inordinate number of pickup trucks on the roads, he found the pace relaxing, if a little too quiet for his tastes. After all, he was more used to the hustle and bustle, the traffic jams of L.A.

 _Where did that come from? I've never even been to Los Angeles._

He wonders if it had to do with that disturbing dream he had last night, which, try as he might, he's unable to fully recall, just remembers something about…a fountain?

 _Why on earth would I connect that to L.A.?_

Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs, he gets out of bed, wondering once again why he hasn't gotten around to replacing the clock radio with a dock for his iPhone.

 _Maybe I'll head to the Buy More after work and get that taken care of._

Again he catches himself by surprise. While there are plenty of places to buy what he needs, the last time he saw a Buy More was back in D.C.

Again shaking his head, he shuffles off to the shower to begin his day.

…

This morning he decides to treat himself. So, after leaving his building, he walks to his favorite breakfast place. During his first few weeks here, he'd wandered around the neighborhood checking out various restaurants and coffee shops, but couldn't seem to find one he liked. Until he'd stumbled upon a little hole-in-the-wall named Clandra's Diner. Not quite a greasy spoon, but not far off either.

…

 _Walking through the door, he looks around, a little unsure. The place is small, only eight tables with red vinyl covered chairs. The only table that's available is a two-seater right in the large front window. Anybody walking by on the busy street can stare at you while you eat, the thought of which makes him feel uneasy._

 _He's about to turn on his heel and leave, when a tall blonde woman in her forties, who'd just finished bring_ ing an or _der to a table of four, walks over and greets him with a dazzling smile._

 _There's something about her that stirs what feels like a memory of a memory, something he can't quite grasp. For a second, he believes it's because she reminds of Karen Green, the kind nurse who'd taken care of him. But the explanation doesn't quite satisfy him. There's something else…_

 _His train of thought is interrupted as the woman asks in a friendly voice, "Hi. You looking for breakfast?"_

 _He vacillates for a moment or two, unsure, but not wanting to appear rude, as if he's judging the place._

" _Sorta, but could I wait for a table nearer the back?"_

 _She grins. "Yeah, it's a bit of a fishbowl at the front." Then she leans in and whispers in an almost conspiratorial tone, "But I'll let you in on a little secret. The food is so good here, you'll never even notice the people walking by. All you'll have eyes for is the plate in front of you."_

" _You're sure?"_

" _Absolutely. I tell you what. If you don't agree after you're finished, the meal's on me. OK?"_

 _He grins back. "Sounds good."_

" _Great." She places a menu on the table as he sits down._

" _My name's Sandra. I don't think I've seen you hereabouts before."_

" _No, just moved here a couple of weeks ago. Running the ISP place down the street."_

 _Sandra raises an eyebrow. "So you're a tech geek?"_

 _Trying to sound affronted (but failing), he replies,"I prefer the term nerd, thank you very much."_

 _She chuckles as she replies, "Well, excuse me. And what would your name be, Mr. Tech Nerd?"_

" _Charles."_

 _She shakes her head. "Nope, that'll never do. Much too formal. I'm going to call you Chuck, if that's alright with you."_

 _He's about to object, but suddenly realizes that, for some reason, he likes the sound of it, even though he'd never gone by Chuck before. Even as a kid, it had always been Charles._

He n _ods. "Yeah, I think I'd like that, Sandra."_

" _Good. Chuck it is."_

 _Just then, a man's voice calls out from the kitchen window, "Hey, princess, if you're finished flirting with the customers, I've got some orders here that need to be picked up. Now would be good."_

 _Looking over her shoulder, she yells, "Hold your horses. I'll be there in a minute."_

 _Turning back, Sandra rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "That's my husband, Clark. He thinks I'm automatically attracted to any man tall and lanky like him, when, in fact, it was his kind and patient nature that first drew me in."_

 _He chuckles._

" _So, what'll you have, Chuck?"_

" _What do you recommend?"_

 _Sandra considers him for a moment. "I'm gonna guess you're a pancake kind of guy."_

 _He can't remember ever having a fondness for them, so it surprises (and mystifies) him that her suggestion is somehow right on the mark._

" _Sounds good. Coffee, too, please." He hands her the unopened menu._

 _Still looking at him, she says, "I'm gonna bring some scrambled eggs and bacon, too. I think you need some filling out."_

 _He flushes a bit. "Thank you, Sandra."_

…

Ever since that first morning, it had become his go-to place.

It wasn't the food, which, although as good as promised, wasn't really any better than some other places he'd tried.

No, it was something else. Something at first he couldn't quite figure out. Then it had finally hit him.

Being there somehow felt like a home, much more so than the place he actually lived in. Chuck (as he now thought of himself more often than not) could see the deep love that Clark and Sandra shared. In truth, he was just the tiniest bit envious of them, of what they had together. His own parents had never been that close, had been oriented towards their careers rather than toward each other. Or him for that matter. When they'd died in that accident, he remembered crying, but now can't for the life of him recall exactly why he did.

He hadn't mentioned any of this to Sandra or Clark, but they seemed to sense the gaps in his life, so had taken him under their wing and made him almost feel as if he was part of their family. They told him about their life together, how they'd just celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary the summer before he arrived in town. And of course, they spoke about their daughter, Elaine, who'd earned a scholarship to Stanford, now well on her way to becoming a doctor. Their beaming pride was clearly evident whenever the subject came around to their child. When Sandra had shown him their daughter's picture, it was easy to tell she'd gotten her good looks and blue eyes from her mother and her somewhat curly brown hair from her father.

Sandra, especially, made sure she looked out for him. Sort of like an older sister would have done if he'd ever had one.

He'd been completely unprepared for his first winter in Casper. While he had been supplied with a winter coat and the usual accoutrements, he'd been shivering badly that first cold morning as he walked into the diner.

Sandra had immediately clucked over him like a protective hen. Gave him the warmest table in the place and quickly placed a large mug of hot coffee in front of him.

She'd looked closely at his winter gear and told him, in no uncertain terms, that the stuff he had was crap. Going to the back, she'd grabbed Clark's coat and shown it to Chuck, had told him this was what he needed. Then she'd pointed out a store across the street that could help him out.

He'd been very grateful and, after making the right purchases, felt much warmer. But he couldn't quite figure out why the winter had hit him so hard. After all, growing up in the northeast with its cold winters should have acclimated him, at least to some degree.

Not that winter is on his mind today. As the man on the radio had indicated, it's a beautiful day and Chuck finds himself in high spirits as he strolls down the street. Opening the door to the diner, he walks in, sees that his favorite window seat is available. Seating himself, he waits for Sandra to notice he's there.

Which she does as soon as she finishes taking the order from a party of four.

Giving him the same dazzling smile he's come to expect, she says, "Hi, Chuck. How's your day?"

"Great, Sandra. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"That it is. The usual?"

He nods.

"Coming right up."

"Oh, by the way, the sandwiches you brought over yesterday were excellent. Thanks again."

"Your employees liked them, did they?"

"They couldn't stop raving about them. I think you just gained a bunch of new customers." On the previous day, the whole crew had to work through lunch (which the locals called dinner), dealing with an actual ISP (not NSA related) problem, so Chuck had ordered in a meal.

Sandra smiles. "Thanks. Clark will be happy to hear that." She turns to head toward the kitchen, but then stops herself and turns backs to face Chuck.

"Chuck, your receptionist was nice. What was her name again?"

Chuck holds in his smile, knowing very well Sandra remembers the name. He would like to see the look on Sandra's face if he told her that his nice "receptionist' carries a Glock and has access to a Heckler & Koch MP7 secreted under the front desk. And knows how to use them.

Well, maybe Sandra wouldn't be all that shocked, given that Wyomingites, in general, seemed to have a fondness for firearms.

"Gillian."

"Yes, that's it. She was really friendly, and cute as well. And I loved her hair. Such a lovely shade of brown. Reminds me a little of Elaine's."

He just nods. Says nothing.

Sandra looks uncertain for a second, but then takes the plunge. "Have you ever thought of asking her out?"

The truth is that Gillian had, over the past few months, made it quite clear she wouldn't mind if he was to do so. And she really is nice. And much more than just cute, really quite beautiful.

But Chuck had held back. He'd always had a thing for brunettes but, for reasons that continue to elude him, just doesn't feel ready to take that step.

Searching for an excuse, he replies, "I'm not sure that would be a good idea, Sandra. You know, the whole boss slash employee thing."

"Chuck, that's a load of crap and you know it. You're not the kind of man to take advantage of that kind of situation. And, after talking to her yesterday, I could tell she really likes you. She kept subtly pumping me for information. Seems like she knew that you spend a lot of time here."

Security protocols required that the crew was kept aware of his location by means of the GPS in his watch, but of course, he couldn't tell Sandra that.

"I guess I've mentioned your place a few times."

Sandra nods. "So, you gonna give it a try?" This wasn't the first time that Sandra had nudged him into making a move of some sort. She'd even tried to set him up on a blind date, but he'd politely refused.

But as he returns her look, he thinks that maybe he's waited long enough. After all, it's not as if he's cheating on anyone, is it? Although, strangely enough, a little part of him feels like he is.

"OK, Sandra. I promise to give it some serious thought."

She looks a little disappointed, but puts on a smile. It's more of a commitment than he's given her before.

"OK, Chuck. I'll go and get your food. Pretty sure Clark started cooking it when you walked in the door."

"Thanks, Sandra."

…

He's working on his second cup of coffee, idly thinking about Gillian, when he hears the front door push open, the little bell tingling.

Chuck looks up and sees a big man with shortish hair looking around for a seat. Something about him rings a bell in Chuck's mind.

 _He's a Marine. Or was._

Chuck wonders about that, puzzled why he's so certain even though he's never seen the man before. Perhaps it's because Walter, an ex-Marine and one of his team, carries himself in a similar way. The connection does seem a bit flimsy, though.

Unfortunately, the place is absolutely packed, the only empty place is at Chuck's table, so after a moment's hesitation, he waves the man over. It's not something he'd normally do, but it seems the friendliness of Casper is rubbing off on him.

The man walks to the table, giving Chuck a hard to read look.

"Please sit. I'm almost done. Then you can have this one."

His voice is a little gruff. "Thanks. That's kind of you." He sits down.

"Would you like a coffee while you wait?"

"Sure. Sounds good."

Chuck gets Sandra's attention, and pointing to his table partner, mouths the word, "Coffee."

Sandra nods.

Chuck holds out his hand and says, "Hi, my name's Chuck."

The man pauses for a moment, then takes Chuck's hand and replies, "Good to meet you, Chuck. My name is John. John Casey."

TBC

— _A/N: We'll leave you hanging there. Next chapter we'll go even further back._

 _Really appreciate your reviews, even if they bring up something I could have done better. So, please, keep them coming._


	3. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Two

_A/N: I sure, by now, that you've figured out that this story will not be told in a linear fashion. We'll be bouncing back and forth a bit. The present in this tale will be the prologue. All flashback dates are keyed to that._

 _As mentioned in a previous A/N, things will make much more sense and carry more weight if you are familiar with the parent story. (Hint, hint if you haven't already read it.)_

 _A big thanks to my beta, michaelfmx._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _As always, do this just for fun and the reward of your comments and reviews (hint, hint again.)_

 _Enjoy!_

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 2

 _11 months ago_

Reining in her anger, her frustration, Sarah keeps her voice level as she asks, "I'm sorry, Ellie. I don't think I heard you correctly. Are you saying that Chuck woke up early this morning, but they're not allowing us to visit him?"

She can see that the doctor, ever perceptive, realizes that the blonde spy is about to blow her top, so quickly replies, "Yes, that's what they've asked of us, but they have their reasons."

Gritting her teeth a little, Sarah asks, "What possible reasons could they have to keep us away?"

From behind her, Sarah hears Casey's grunt of agreement and Morgan's, "Yeah, what's that about?"

Devon steps in to help out his wife. "Guys, they talked to both of us early this morning and told us that they'd evaluated Chuck and found some problems. They requested that Ellie and I give you the heads up."

For the moment, at least, Sarah's anger is replaced by sudden, almost overpowering disquiet. Her voice betrays her anxiety. "What's wrong? Is it serious?"

Ellie replies, "We don't think so, but they can't be sure until they do some more tests. The problem is that he's confused about his identity. He seems to believe, at least right now, that he's Charles Carmichael, not Chuck."

Morgan pipes up, "What the hell? He thinks he's some made up character? How could that happen?"

Devon answers, "The good news is that they feel that they did get rid of the Intersect. Most of it, anyway. He's not flashing. But they do believe that it's likely they couldn't get it all. They think it's possible that Chuck's problems stem from a 'leftover' that wasn't eliminated by the procedure."

Ellie then jumps in. "Since Chuck used that cover so often, it may be that it somehow got stuck in his mind. And that, combined with the residual confusion from the procedure, especially if it didn't quite work, left him disoriented, at least temporarily."

Sarah takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "OK. I think I understand. But why would that mean we can't see him?"

"The doctors feel that seeing us right now might confuse matters for him even further. They've asked us to just give them a day to check him out more thoroughly. Hopefully, the problem will pass quickly. But if it doesn't, they'll bring us in to see if our presence jump-starts his memory."

"Just today?"

"Yes. All they want is the one day."

Sarah's voice is firm. "I intend to hold them to that, Ellie."

Ellie gives her a grim smile. "So do I, Sarah. So do I."

With the tension ratcheted down a little, Devon suggests that they all go to breakfast at the diner across the street. There's a general murmur of agreement and the men file out of the hotel room in which they'd gathered to discuss matters.

Holding the door, Ellie calls out to her husband, "Devon, Sarah and I will be along in a few minutes."

"No problem. We'll grab a table with room for all of us."

"Thanks."

Ellie closes the door, then turns to lean back against it. She gives Sarah a look, which stops the blonde agent in her tracks.

"OK, Sarah. Time to fess up. I need to hear it from you."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't do that, Sarah. Don't try to pretend."

Avoiding Ellie's look, she replies, "Pretend what?"

Apparently irritated with the woman's continued prevarication, Ellie replies, somewhat harshly. "Don't keep on pretending that what you feel for Chuck is the same you'd feel for any of us if we were in his position."

"Ellie, I think you must be mista—"

Ellie cuts her off, angry. "Sarah, I said don't do that. And I meant it."

Silence.

"Those mooks who just walked out the door might not be bright enough to notice, but you're not fooling me. It's pretty obvious how you feel."

Sarah opens her mouth to defend herself, but then stops, her shoulders slumping, defeated.

"How did you figure it out?"

"The better question is, how come it took me so long to be certain?"

"What gave me away?"

"Sarah, we've all been worried sick about Chuck. All of us love him in our own way, even that hulking brute, Casey. But the way you've been acting ever since all this began, clinched matters for me.

"Except for Devon, I love my brother more than any person in this world. Even so, when things started to go downhill, and even though I knew he wasn't really himself, I found it very difficult to deal with his unkind words, his paranoia. But we, the rest of us, only caught the fringes of his cruelty. Most of it was directed, with perfect aim, straight at you."

Sarah nods, her expression neutral as she recalls those difficult days of the so recent past.

"God, Sarah, he was absolutely brutal with you. I would've never thought that he was capable being like that with anyone. Not even with Jill or Bryce, even after all the things they did to him.

"Sarah, excuse me for saying this, but I know you have a temper. I've seen it once or twice, and Chuck told me about a couple of times you chewed him out. And yet, I saw you stand there and take his abuse without retaliating. I saw you treat him with kindness and patience, even when he was at his worst." She pauses. "I saw the tears you tried so hard to hide.

Sarah tries to wave it off. "Like you said, he wasn't himself, Ellie."

"Of course. But even so, there are limits to what a person can take. The only way I could put up with him is because I love him so much. And when all this went down and I had to remind myself of that, it suddenly clicked.

"You, Sarah Walker, had truly fallen for my nerdy little brother."

Sarah doesn't reply, her eyes downcast. But it seems that's enough for Ellie.

"I'd always felt you had, but with all the dancing around, the back and forth crap, you guys have been doing the past few years, I sometimes doubted myself." She pauses. "But, at that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that you loved him. And have for some time. Everything I've seen from you since we got here, only reinforces that."

"What do you mean?"

"Sarah, I know you've spent four or five hours in his room each night since we got here."

Sarah snaps back. "Has Nurse Green been talking?"

"No. I admit that, once, I did casually ask her about your visits, but the woman was like a clam. She wouldn't tell me anything of what went on in his room. It was the other staff members who commented on your comings and goings. Last night, the charge nurse saw your face as you left his room. She swore that she could see you'd been crying."

"So you've had people spying on me?"

"No, Sarah. I didn't ask them to. They just mentioned it to us in the course of Devon and I looking after Chuck." She pauses. "It's just that you've been so quiet the last few days. Anxious. I was worried about you. And the staff were concerned as well."

"We're all worried about him, Ellie."

"Of course. I've shed my fair share of tears as well. But I'm seeing something else from you."

Ellie asks, somewhat hesitantly, "Sarah, would you mind if I ask you what you did while in his room? I'd hate to think you sat there crying the whole time, alone, when you could've had someone beside you to commiserate with. Me, for instance."

There's nothing but silence for a few seconds, and just as Ellie thinks she'll get no answer, Sarah speaks up.

"I sit beside his bed and we talk."

Ellie's surprised. "With an unconscious man? It'd be a one-sided conversation at best."

"I talk and imagine what he would say in response."

Ellie ponders that for a few seconds, then asks, "About what?"

Sarah's reply is quick. "That's private, Ellie. Just between him and me. Even Nurse Green made sure that she was far enough way as to not overhear."

This time, it's Ellie's turn to blush. "Sorry. Too much of the nosy big sister thing."

Sarah decides to let her off the hook. A little. "It's OK, Ellie. It's just something I've wanted to say to him for a very long time."

"OK, I get…"

Suddenly, Ellie stares at her, and Sarah swears she can almost see the light come on.

"Oh, my god! You've never told him that you love him, have you? Before now, I mean."

Sarah opens her mouth, but before she can answer, Ellie cuts her off. "No, don't tell me. It's none of my business. I'm so sorry. Again. I just can't seem to stop myself, but please understand it's only because I want so much for you two to be happy. Chuck has loved you since way back, even though he hasn't said as much to me, I could tell how he felt…and I'm gonna stop talking now."

At almost any other time, the Bartowski babble would've amused her. But, right now, all Sarah feels is irritation. Because Ellie's accurate observations have only served to, once again, remind Sarah of her gaping deficiencies in all things relationship-wise. And of all the opportunities she'd let slip by, too afraid to step up to the plate.

Sarah is on the cusp of firmly telling Ellie to drop the subject, but stops when she sees the look on the woman's face. Sure, there's embarrassment. And a measure of contrition over her continued nosiness.

But there's also something else. Something Sarah had rarely seen in her adult life. That is until she was assigned to Burbank.

A genuine, unselfish concern for her wellbeing. A sincere desire to know of her trials, her disappointments, not so they can be held over her head, but, rather, in an honest effort to help her find her way to the other side.

Sarah can't recall the last time her father looked at her like that. Doesn't believe she ever saw it from Bryce.

But she's seen it more times than she can remember in Chuck's eyes. And Ellie's, too, for that matter. But she's always been too stubborn, too self-reliant, perhaps too embarrassed over her own shortcomings, to acknowledge that look and take them up on the offer.

And with that, Sarah decides it's time for a change. So, instead of forcefully terminating their conversation, she replies, "No, Ellie, you're right. I didn't tell him before. I've told him now, numerous times, but, of course, I have no way of knowing if he actually heard me."

Ellie nods sympathetically, gently asks, "Why, Sarah? Why did you wait so long?"

Sarah hesitates, unsure if she's ready to reveal so much of that secret person, the one she keeps buried deep in her heart. But, in the end, the patience and kindness she feels from the woman standing in front of her, tips the balance.

"Ellie, I'm damaged. How damaged, I've only truly understood since Chuck, and the rest of you came into my life."

Quietly, Ellie replies, "What kind of damage, Sarah?"

Sarah is unsure how far back she should go, but after a moment's thought, she takes the plunge.

"It started when I was seven and on the road with my father."

Before she can say anything more, the doctor quickly closes the distance between them, and taking Sarah's hands in hers, squeezes them tightly.

Looking into her eyes, Ellie asks, her voice eerily calm, "Sarah, honey, did he abuse you?"

Sarah is startled. "What? No! Nothing like that."

Under her breath, Ellie mutters a relieved, "Thank God."

"Ellie, my father was, _is_ , a con man. He used me, his cute little blonde, blue-eyed girl, to bilk people out of their hard-earned cash. From him, I learned how to read people. How to lie to them. How to play upon their sympathy, their gullibility. How to become a different person at the drop of hat." She pauses. "I've had so many names that I can't possibly recall them all. I lived in so many places, but can't recall even a single one that felt like a real home."

Sarah sees the tears gathering in Ellie's eyes. She shakes her head. "Sarah, you're wrong. It was abuse. Just of a different kind."

Shocked, she realizes Ellie's right, but even while she's still wrapping her head around this epiphany, Ellie asks, quite forcefully, "Where was your mother in all this? Why didn't _she_ step in and take care of you?"

"It wasn't her fault, Ellie. I chose to go with my dad when I was young. Mom wanted what was best for me, but that meant discipline and restrictions. My dad, on the other hand, would let me do pretty much whatever I wanted. As a kid, the choice I made seemed quite sensible. In any case, once he and I were on the road together, and along with all the identity changes, it was virtually impossible to track us down."

"OK. I guess I understand that. What I don't understand is how you went from there to the CIA."

"Ellie, much later on, my father was arrested at the behest of the CIA director. When he found me later that day, he told me it was for my father's own protection. In truth, it was a way for him to coerce me into joining the CIA. It seemed he'd known about me for quite some time and felt my skill set would be of use to him."

She can hear the rigidly controlled anger in Ellie's voice. "Just how old were you when all this happened?"

Sensing the dam is about to burst, Sarah is reluctant to answer, but, after a second, quietly replies, "Seventeen."

"SEVENTEEN?!" Ellie shouts, before lowering her voice and going on a little more calmly."Do you mean to tell me that…that bastard, on the day you effectively became an orphan, took advantage of your youth, your naivety, to drag you into his world?"

"Yes, Ellie. He did. But to be fair, I was less naive than most seventeen-year-olds."

"Still doesn't excuse him. Who is he? I would like to have a little discussion with the _gentleman_."

Warmed by her protectiveness (clearly a Bartowski family trait), Sarah answers, "He's dead, Ellie. He died a while ago."

"Painfully, I hope."

Sarah, surprised by the vindictiveness she hears in the doctor's voice, simply says, "No, there was an explosion. It was quick."

"Pity." Ellie grins, wickedly. "Maybe we could visit his grave one day. I have an idea of some things we might do there."

Sarah chuckles, grateful for the moment of comic relief, knowing, as she does, that the worst is yet to come.

Becoming serious once again, Sarah goes on, "Ellie, after I went through training and a physical transformation, I became his personal tool. His blunt instrument, to wield as he saw fit."

Ellie looks puzzled. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"No, I expect you don't. Fortunately, despite your level of involvement in Chuck's spy life, you've never really experienced my world. And I'm glad you haven't."

Sarah looks the doctor straight in the eyes, unflinchingly says, "Ellie, I was his 'Wildcard Enforcer', sent around the world to take care of legitimate and, often, not so legitimate, threats to the security of this country."

"What do you mean take care of? Arrest them?"

Sarah says nothing, just looks at her and shakes her head.

Ellie suddenly looks a little ill. "You mean you were an…assassin?"

Sarah nods.

Ellie shakes her head. "I don't believe it."

"It's true, Ellie. I was quite good at it. Please understand that I'm not saying this to shock you, or to sound like I'm bragging. It's the simple truth. And there are many other things that I've done. Things I'm not ready to talk about."

Ellie shakes her head, incredulous. "How much does Chuck know?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Some of it, for sure. All of it, if he actually was able to hear me during the last few evenings I spent in his room. I've told him everything. Everything, Ellie."

It's easy to see that Ellie is struggling to come to grips with this shockingly blunt description of the woman she thought she knew. A minute or so passes before the doctor goes on, "Sarah, if you ever want to talk more about your past, you can always come to me. You know that, right?

Sarah, warmed by the woman's offer, nonetheless shakes her head. "Thank you. But not until I can say with certainty that Chuck knows the whole story first."

"I wasn't presuming anything."

Sarah nods. "I know you weren't. It's OK."

"Thanks, Sarah. Just so I'm clear, you didn't tell Chuck you loved him, even though you've known for quite some time, because you thought he wouldn't be able to return your love once he knew the full story of the life you've led, the things you've done. Is that right?"

"Yes, Ellie. I couldn't say the words to him without also letting him know what he was taking on. I could not, would not, let him love me in ignorance. But, at the same time, I've been so terrified of losing even that which we did have, frustrating as it's been."

"So, basically you let him dangle while you made up your mind?

Sarah flinches, Ellie's words cutting her to the quick.

"Ellie, I know it seems like that, but I didn't mean to do it." She hangs her head. "I guess I was just too much of a coward. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Sarah. I didn't mean for it to come out that harshly. I do feel for you, for the dilemma you were facing."

Ellie looks around, notices the love seat against the far wall. "Sarah, let's go and sit for a bit. There are a few things I'd like to ask and a few things I want to tell you. OK?"

Sarah nods. "Won't the guys be waiting for us?"

Ellie pulls out her phone. "I'll text and tell them to start without us." Her fingers fly over the keyboard. A few seconds later there's the ding of an incoming message.

After quickly scanning it, Ellie says, "OK. They're good. Let's talk."

They sit and turn to face each other, their knees almost touching.

"Sarah, you said that unless Chuck somehow heard what you told him, which, by the way, I highly doubt, he likely only knows some of your story. What are you basing that on?"

"Well, he spent some time with me and my father, so knows a fair amount of that story."

"So, let me ask you this. Do you think Chuck would ever, even for a moment, be disgusted by any of the stuff you did as a child while under the direction of a criminally wayward parent?"

Sarah's answer is immediate, almost instinctive. "No, of course not."

"Good. So that takes cares of everything until your seventeenth year. Right?"

Sarah, momentarily taken aback by the doctor's logic, is about to raise an objection, when she realizes the woman is right.

"I suppose it does."

"Good. Now, in the years you've been with us in Burbank, have you done anything that Chuck found to be so repugnant that he was unable to get past it and forgive you?"

"Ellie, I haven't been assigned any missions like the ones I did before coming here. And I'm quite certain I wouldn't accept that kind of assignment anymore. But there were a few times where I had to get close to some of the bad guys we had to deal with. And there was an…incident with Bryce and another one with an MI6 agent. That kind of stuff bothered him a lot."

Ellie bluntly asks, "Did you ever sleep with any of them?"

She shakes her head, embarrassed. "No, but-"

"No buts. Were you two able to hash it out?"

"Yes, but-"

"No 'yes, buts', either. You worked it out between you and moved on. Was there anything else?"

Sarah thinks for a moment, then shakes her head.

"Good. Then, all that leaves us with are the years in between. Right?"

"You're right, but those will be the toughest ones."

"I agree. And, for most normal guys, I think what you did during those years would likely be the deal breaker. Would you agree?"

"Yes. Ellie. I did some terrible things during that time. Stuff that still gives me nightmares. It's those incidents that almost certainly _would_ be the 'deal breaker' for a normal guy like Chuck."

"And I would agree with you, except for one thing. Chuck, as much as I love the goof, is certainly not normal. Not even close."

Sarah splutters, "What…what did you just say?"

Ellie smiles at her reaction. "You heard me."

Sarah shakes her head. "Ellie, I'm surprised you would say that. And you're wrong. One of the other reasons I didn't tell him how I felt was that he made it quite clear he was just a normal man who wanted a regular life. How could I give that to him?"

Ellie nods thoughtfully. "Ah! I see that he gave you the 'normal guy' speech.

For the second time in the last few moments, Sarah is taken by surprised at the unexpected words from the woman facing her.

"How did you know about that? Wait. You weren't listening that night in the courtyard, were you?"

"Nope. Don't even know what night you're talking about. It's just that I've heard that from him before."

"Why on earth would he say it to you?"

"It was after he was kicked out of Stanford and had been betrayed by Jill. Understandably, he was depressed. After he came home, we had these talks where he bemoaned his fate. About how all he'd wanted was just to have a normal life. Graduate college. Get a good job. To settle down with her. Have kids. And how that was shot to hell now. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Just about drove me up the wall, because he couldn't figure out that he could do anything he wanted if he just put his mind to it. Even after I keep encouraging him. Fortunately, that was about the time when he went back to the Buy More and, as bad as that place is, it did give him something else to focus on."

Sarah is taken aback by Ellie's candidness, unused to hearing any real criticism of Chuck from her lips.

"So what's your point, Ellie?"

"Chuck may think he's a normal guy, may believe that's what he wants in life, but he's wrong on both counts."

Sarah shakes her head, is about to disagree once more, but doesn't get the chance.

"Think about it, Sarah. What _normal_ man could've survived having the Intersect stuck in his brain for more than a few days, maybe a few weeks at best? Certainly, none would have survived for all the years that Chuck had it. And not only that, what normal guy could have made effective use of it right down until just a few weeks ago?"

"None, I guess, but what does that have to do with my reluctance to tell him?"

"To reiterate. You believe that if he learns the truth about the kind of life you've led, he'll turn away, repulsed. Right?"

Mentally she flinches once more, a little cowed by Ellie's ability to get right to the heart of matters. "Yes."

"Sarah, your logic is faulty. For example, is there any reason to believe that your service records, your psychological assessments, aren't in the Intersect?"

Sarah thinks for a moment. "Not the unsanctioned missions, but most of it would be there."

"So, knowing how the Intersect triggers work, can you doubt that he's already flashed on a lot of the data about Agent Sarah Walker?"

"He's only mentioned a couple of incidents, and he told me that he would never do it on purpose. I assumed it only happened those couple of times."

"That was a nice sentiment on his part, but you know as well as I do, that he has no control over what he flashes on, anymore more than he can control the beating of his heart. All it takes is one little thing to trigger it. A piece of jewelry. A little gesture. A word. And Bam! There it is, right in front of him, with him unable to turn his mind's eye away."

"But why wouldn't he tell me?"

Ellie regards her, sadly for a few moments.

"Sarah, what would motivate a person to go out of their way to make sure they don't dredge up a whole ream of hurtful, gut-wrenching memories of what another person's gone through?"

"Because you love that…Oh!"

Ellie nods, smiles at Sarah's look of wonder.

"He was trying to protect me, while the whole time I was trying to protect him."

"Yes. You didn't, you don't, need to be afraid of him turning away. Because even though he already knows a lot of your past, he—"

"—still loves me."

"Bingo."

Sarah can't help but shake her head, angry and disappointed over all the times their mutually meagre communication skills had let them down. How much better off would they've been right now, if they'd only found a way to _really_ talk?

 _Well, no more of that crap. After he's better_ , we're g _oing to have a long conversation._

Sarah stands. "Thank you, Ellie. I promise to get things out in the open tomorrow."

"I know you will, Sarah, but I'm not quite finished yet. Please sit down."

Sarah's obliges, but is genuinely puzzled. It seemed they'd covered the bases. "What else was there?"

"You were surprised, even a little upset, that I said that Chuck was far from being normal, weren't you?"

"Yes. It seemed a little cruel."

Ellie smiles. "You're right, or you would have been if what I said was meant in any way to be derogatory. The truth is that Chuck's never been ordinary, normal or regular, even when he was a kid.

"He was exceptional, even then. And he grew up to be an exceptional man."

She pauses. "Sarah, false modesty aside, I know I'm quite intelligent. You don't get to my position if you're not. And Devon is too, despite his occasional frat boy manners. Even Casey, under that rough exterior, has a remarkable mind." She grins. "Jury's still out on Morgan, however.

"My point is that Chuck puts all of us to shame. He's far beyond intelligent. A true genius, even though he hides his light more than he should. But not just that, he's also a very good man, which, all too often, doesn't go hand-in-hand with genius."

Ellie pauses, looks into Sarah's eyes. "And I don't think you give him enough credit."

Offense bubbles up. "Excuse me, Ellie. That's a little unfair. I've always appreciated how intelligent, how good he is."

"I don't think you really do, at least not in some ways. Because if you did, you would've never been afraid to tell him about your past."

Sarah's temper flares. "You're being unkind. I've done my very best to understand Chuck, even when others dismissed him."

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I know you have. Please give me a chance to explain what I mean."

The spy nods, grudgingly, rigidly. "OK. Go ahead."

"Even if he hadn't had all that data stuffed into his brain, Chuck would've been smart enough on his own to figure you out, would've formulated his own opinion of you. Sure, if you'd laid out your past, he would've been shocked, overwhelmed. At first. But, then, given a bit of time, he would've found a way to separate you, the person, from the actions. He would've understood that they're not one and the same.

"Chuck always looks for the good in people. Always assumes there is good to be found. A trait, which, frankly, I find a little frustrating at times. When Jill cheated on him, his first instinct was to feel that he, somehow, was the one to blame. That she couldn't be as cruel as her actions seemed to indicate. When I contradicted him, told him that she was simply a world-class bitch, he wouldn't accept it. At least at first. Later on, he did come around. At least to some degree.

"But in your case, he would've been totally right. Regardless of what you believe, you _are_ a good person. And he wouldn't have stopped loving you just because you told him about yourself. Rather, he would've loved you even more because you were willing to trust him with the things that you'd told no one else." Ellie pauses. "Sarah, do you really understand what kind of man he is?"

Sarah, blinking, trying to keep the sudden tears at bay, just nods, not trusting herself to speak.

Ellie nods in turn, takes Sarah's hand once more. "Good. You need to believe that there is no comparison between you and Jill.

"She was his _mediocrity._ If it had worked out, if he'd settled for her, for the life he believed he'd wanted, one day, somewhere down the road, he would've woken up realizing just how much he'd short-changed himself.

"But you, Sarah, are his _extraordinary_. The one he's been waiting for all his life, even if he doesn't realize it. The one he deserves, even though he would never think that.

"And he's the one you deserve, even though I'm quite certain you don't believe that to be true, either."

Sarah swipes at her eyes, brushes the tears away. But it's a useless gesture because they come right back.

"I'm not saying that the two of you won't _ever_ have the house, the kids, the PTA meetings. That's up to you. What I am saying is that even if you do wind up there, you'll never, ever be regular, average, because you, Sarah Walker, will never be _normal_. And neither will Chuck, as long as he has you.

"Because each day when he wakes up beside you and looks into your eyes, all he'll see is possibilities, not regrets."

Sarah, struck dumb by this vision of her future, can only nod her head.

"Do you understand, Sarah?"

It takes a few seconds, but finally finding her voice, she replies, "Yes. I _do_ understand what you're saying, Ellie."

"That's good, but do you believe it?"

"I'm starting to."

Ellie nods. "Good. Now all you have to do is tell _him_." She grins. "Preferably when he's awake."

Sarah, laughs, a little wetly. "I promise."

But then sudden worry clouds her face. "What if he's still confused tomorrow?"

Ellie shrugs her shoulders. "Then we'll wait until the next day. Or the next."

"But what if he doesn't remember me?"

Ellie snorts. "Seriously? Have you _seen_ yourself? It wouldn't be possible for any man, let alone crazy-for-you Chuck, to ever really forget you. I'm sure that when he sees you face to face, he'll remember."

Reassured, Sarah squeezes Ellie's hand, earnestly says, "Thank you for talking some sense into me."

"Hey, what's the good of having an older sister if she doesn't kick your butt from time to time?"

Sarah raises an eyebrow. "Sister?"

The older woman has the grace to be a little sheepish. "Just anticipating."

Chuckling, Sarah stands. "OK, _sis_. Let's join the guys for some breakfast. I'm suddenly famished."

…

The pounding on Sarah's room door drags her from her pleasant dream: Chuck and her walking, hand in hand, on a beach somewhere. She's almost certain there was a ring on her finger.

Through the door, she hears Casey's urgent voice. "Walker, wake up! There's been some sort of incident at the hospital!"

Suddenly wide awake, she jumps from her bed and, throwing on a robe, goes to the door, opens it. It's easy to tell the big man has just thrown on some clothes, shoes still untied.

There's an icy spike of panic in her gut, but she does her best to quell it, to keep it out of her voice as she asks, "What happened, Casey?"

"Don't know. Beckman just called me and told us to get there ASAP. You get ready and I'll go and collect the rest. Meet you at the van."

"OK. OK." Closing the door, she shucks off her sleepwear, frantically throws on a tee shirt, jeans and then ties up her chucks. Standing, she puts on her leather coat, stuffs her wallet, phone and keys into the pockets. Lastly, she slips her S&W into the waistband at the back of her pants.

 _Now I'm ready._

Out in the hallway, she can hear the commotion as Casey rouses the rest of the team. She's certain that she hears Ellie's voice from somewhere, her words echoing down the hallway.

"Oh my god! Has something happened to Chuck?"

Echoing in her own heart.

She sees Casey come around the corner at the end of the hallway, calls out to him, "Casey, I'm going to take my own car. I can't wait for everyone to get ready."

He waves her away. "Go on. We'll catch up,"

Running to the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator, she practically hurtles herself down the steps, taking three or four at a time. A few seconds later she bursts through the door leading to the parking lot behind the hotel. Spies her rental car parked next to the van the team has been using to shuttle back and forth from the hospital.

She drags the keys from her pocket, hits the remote to unlock the car but nothing happens. She lets out a curse, then realizes she's holding the stupid thing the wrong way. She presses the right button this time, opens the door and flings herself into the driver's seat.

Quickly putting the car in motion, she swings out onto the road. She floors it, watches the speed build ever so slowly, desperately wishing she was sitting in her Porsche rather than this underpowered piece of crap rental sedan.

Fortunately, the road is pretty much deserted this early in the morning. If there'd been anyone to slow her down, she's quite certain that her reaction would've gone down in the annals of extreme road rage.

It's only about five miles to the hospital, but, to Sarah, it feels like some uncrossable, infinite distance. Finally, after what seems an almost interminable amount of time, she finds herself on the winding, tree-lined road which leads into the grounds of the facility.

Coming to the last straight section, she's able to see the full moon in front of her, just coming up over the horizon. A chill goes through her.

A blood moon.

Stained that color, she quickly realizes, by smoke rising from the hospital, which has just now come into view. As do the flashing lights of a large number of emergency vehicles clustered around the structure.

Screeching to a halt at the front gate, it's clear that she can go no further in her car, what with the various vehicles blocking the road.

She quickly opens her door, and, launching herself out of the car, is about to start running towards the hospital when the guard steps out of his shack. He stops right in front of her, blocking her path.

"I'm sorry, miss. This area is restricted. I can't let you pass."

Resisting the urge to punch him in the throat and be done with it, Sarah pulls her wallet from her pocket and shows the burly young man her ID. Scowling, she impatiently waits for the guard, one she's never met before, to complete his task. She notices he visibly starts upon reading her name. And even though he has six inches and probably eighty pounds on her, when he looks up and meets her fierce gaze, he actually seems to pale a little.

It appears her reputation has preceded her.

He quickly steps aside, then says, very politely, "I'm sorry I held you up, Agent Walker. Please proceed."

Grunting, sounding almost Casey-like, she takes off, running full tilt toward the main entrance. As she nears it, she notices the staff are gathered outside, along with what appears to be a couple of patients. There's also a guard lying prone on a gurney, seemingly unconscious. She recognizes a few of the nurses and doctors, but her eyes are drawn to Nurse Green sitting on the edge of another gurney, her arms bandaged, her hair and eyebrows singed, visibly distraught.

Sarah doesn't stop, but catches a snatch of the woman's conversation with the doctor in front of her as she runs past.

"I tried, but the flames were just too much. I couldn't reach him..."

 _No. No. No. She's not talking about Chuck. She's talking about some other patient._

 _She has to be. This can't happen now. We were so close. So close._

She has to know for herself, so rushes past the two of them, heads toward the entrance. A fireman tries to block her way, telling her she can't go in yet, that it's too dangerous.

Her patience exhausted, she grabs the man's wrist, twists it in such a way that he lets out a grunt of pain, and falls to his knees, cradling his temporarily useless limb. She feels bad for second or two, the man was only doing his job, after all, but consoles herself with the knowledge that the pain will only last for a minute or so and there won't be any permanent damage.

The corridors are hazy with smoke, causing her to cough a couple of times as she heads down the now familiar path to Chuck's room. As she rounds the final corner, she sees a couple of fireman standing in front of his door, talking. Engrossed in their conversation, they don't notice her approach.

Coming closer, she hears one say to the other, "It appears the oxygen lines in the room were ruptured by the explosion.

His partner replies, shaking his head, "No wonder the sprinklers couldn't handle the flames."

At that moment, the blackened door of Chuck's room is opened, and a third firefighter steps out into the corridor, an object in her hand.

She addresses one of the men, "Captain, there's no sign of a body. Not any trace that I could see at all. Maybe he got out before the fire started."

Hope soars in her chest.

The woman holds up the partially melted object in her hand. "All I could find was his cellphone."

 _An NSA incinerator._

Somehow, Sarah manages to keep herself upright. Somehow, she manages to stop herself from howling in pain. Somehow, she manages to keep her heart beating.

Unbidden, a line from a poem she'd read at Harvard comes back to mind. Words that had stuck with her, long after she'd forgotten the rest of the piece. Words she'd lived by until she'd found him.

 _I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair._

Someone has just taken away all her tomorrows.

Now all that remains is for her is to take away theirs.

…

Casey finishes his discussion with the head of security and walks back to the group anxiously awaiting his information.

Devon has his arms around his wife, who seems to be on the verge of collapse, barely able to remain on her feet. Morgan stands close, his hand supportively on Ellie's shoulder.

She asks, a tremor in her voice, "What happened? What did he tell you?"

Quietly he replies, "Ellie, maybe we should go back to the hotel and discuss it there."

She straightens, sudden steel in spine and voice. "John Casey, you will tell us right now. Right here."

He still hesitates, but upon seeing the look in her eyes, he gives in. "The man I spoke with just came on duty at midnight. He and his team had been sent here to replace the regular crew, to make sure that security was extra tight. At about three this morning, the fire alarm was triggered in the wing which contains Chuck's room. After making sure the local fire department was notified, he, along with a couple of guards, ran to that area. Smoke was starting to fill the corridor. They discovered one of the guards unconscious on the floor outside Chuck's room. He'd been tranqued. He also found Nurse Green attempting to enter the room, but the flames within beat her back. She was about to try a second time when he grabbed her and pulled her back. She suffered second-degree burns to her arms. The guard was pulled to safety."

He pauses. "Ellie, all the staff and patients are accounted for. Except for Chuck. He's missing."

If Casey had expected the woman to fall to the ground, wailing, he's proved wrong.

Rather, she just looks at him and nods her head, her eyes glistening with, as yet, unshed tears.

"Thank you, John." She turns to Devon, asks very softly, "Can we please go back to the hotel? We're just in the way here and I'm not going to break down in front of strangers."

Devon nods, replies, his voice choking, "Sure, babe. Let's go."

At that moment, the main door of the hospital slides open. A tall blonde woman, preceded by a puff of smoke, strides through the entrance. Upon seeing the look on her face, everyone in her path moves aside.

When she reaches Casey, she tosses him the object she'd held in her hand.

"They found this in his room."

Casey immediately recognizes it, along with all the implications it carries.

Without acknowledging the others, she walks away, her posture rigid, never looks back.

Ellie, seemingly unsure of the evidence from her own eyes, blurts out, "Was that Sarah?"

Watching the woman's retreating form, Casey shakes his head sadly. "No, Ellie. Sarah's gone.

"That was Agent Walker."

 **TBC** —A/N: Next time we'll find out how Casey found our lost soul up there in Wyoming. (Well for me, down and to the left.) Until then, Zettel's back, and along with Grayroc's great story, you'll have plenty of good stuff to read.


	4. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Three

A/N: We'll focus on Sarah and Casey for a while. Find out what happened after that night at the hospital.

Thank you, michaelfmx. Wouldn't be here without your encouragement and suggestions. Any errors you see are my responsibility.

Don't own Chuck, et al.

Please enjoy!

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 3

 _1 month ago._

Major John Casey squirms in his seat once more, trying to find a comfortable position. Unfortunately, as he does so, the donut air pillow he'd been issued once again makes a rather rude sounding noise.

However, this time, not one of the office staff chuckles or even dares to look in his direction. After the menacing glare and accompanying growl he'd directed towards them the first time they'd done so, the lesson had been learned.

Don't poke the bear, especially one this irascible.

Casey hates office work. Hates not being in the field. It's even worse than those years he'd spent as a Green Shirt in the stupid Buy More. At least there'd been the chance for some gunplay from time to time, what with all the bad guys who seemed to gravitate to the store.

If the idiotic moron they'd assigned him as a partner had been doing his job, Casey would still be in the field, not nursing a bullet wound to his ass. Wouldn't have been assigned to this crappy desk work until he was fully recovered.

He's sure it never would've happened if he'd still had Walker at his side. The CIA skirt, as he'd once dismissively called her, had proven to be the best damn partner he'd ever worked with. Never, not even once, had she come even close to letting him down.

But Walker is long gone.

Where, it seems, God only knows.

…

 _11 months ago._

After she'd so abruptly left the rest of them at the hospital that night, he'd gone to her room. Upon her opening the door at his knock, he'd seen the grim resolve in her expression. Behind her, he'd noticed her larger bags were already packed, sitting at he foot of her bed.

He'd looked her in the eye, asked, "What are your plans, Walker?"

She hadn't been inclined to answer, instead had turned away, walked back to the bed. Then she'd started forcefully throwing some last items into the small bag on the bed. After he'd walked into her room and closed the door behind him, he'd asked her again.

A few seconds later she'd responded, her back still turned. Her voice had been filled with bitterness. "I didn't protect him, Casey. That was my goddamned job. _Protect Chuck Bartowski._ And I blew it."

He'd nodded. "So what are you planning to do? Go off on some rampage? Keep taking out enough people until you get an answer? Or maybe just until someone sneaks up and shoots you in the back of the head while you're interrogating some lowlife?"

Her shoulders were tense. "I have to do something, Casey. I can't just sit here and let them get away with it."

"I agree. But you're not going to get very far by trying to pull off the whole lone-wolf routine. You're damn good, the best I've seen, but you haven't got eyes in the back of your head. You'll need someone to watch your back."

She'd turned at that. "You volunteering?"

He'd nodded. "Hell yes, we can't let the bastards get away with it, can we?"

She'd nodded firmly. He'd seen the gratitude in her eyes.

"Thank you, Casey."

The next morning, the two of them had approached Beckman, requesting that they be freed from a return to their regular duties. When she'd asked why, they'd both clearly stated their intent to track down those responsible and bring to justice.

Exactly what sort of justice had been left unsaid, but all parties had understood what was being asked.

The General had, at first, refused, but when they'd tactfully reminded her that it had been her security arrangements that had failed, she reluctantly gave in. That, and the less then tactful threat that the two of them would resign and go it on their own if the General objected.

In the end, Beckman had given them Carte Blanche to call upon any and all resources they needed to get the job done. They were to report directly to her on any progress they made.

She'd then commiserated with the two of them over the loss of Chuck. She'd kindly asked Sarah if she would like to take some personal time before setting off on their quest. Sarah had assured the General that she was fine, that time off was unnecessary. Beckman had looked at her, seemed about to ask again, but instead had simply dismissed them.

…

The memorial for Chuck had been a small affair, held a week later. Ellie had insisted that only those closest to him attend. Since there was no body, they'd decided to have the gathering on a section of beach that had been important to him, rather than in some impersonal funeral home.

When it had come time for each to say a few words about Chuck, Sarah had wound up going last. Her terse, quiet, "He was my Chuck," had made even Casey's halting sentences seem emotionally verbose in comparison. Yet they'd packed a punch well beyond their weight.

Ellie had been very brave up to that point, but at Sarah's simple declaration, her tears had flowed freely as she'd broken down in Devon's arms. He, too, had been visibly distraught, choking back his sobs.

Morgan had cried like a baby, but the Major, for once, had not held that against him. For as Casey had stood there, he'd found that his tears had also been right at the surface. So much so, that he'd had to turn away more than once to try and clear them away.

But Walker hadn't shed a single tear. Instead, she'd remained stoic, rigidly reining in her emotions. Her declaration had given them a momentary glimpse into her heart, but now that door had closed again. Casey had noticed the puzzled looks from Devon and Morgan, but had seen Ellie, even through her tears, giving Sarah a look that'd told her she understood.

Immediately after her brief words, she'd given all of them a hug, almost perfunctorily, although she'd lingered a little longer with Ellie. Then she'd turned and walked away, choosing not to join them back at the apartment.

As far as Casey knew, that was the last time she'd seen any of them.

The very next morning, they'd begun their mission.

Very quickly, Casey realized that, as focused as he'd seen her in the past, it was nothing compared to the way she had now become. She was absolutely single-minded, her life now centered on one question and one question only.

Who was responsible?

To that end, she only slept reluctantly, in order to have the energy she needed for the next day. Uncaringly ate what was set before her, simply to keep her body fueled for the hunt.

The trail leading back to the NSA incinerator had already proven to be a dead end. In the immediate aftermath of the incident, they'd discovered that quite a number of the devices were unaccounted for. Whether that was due to sloppy bookkeeping or outright theft, was anyone's guess. In any case, they'd quickly realized that path was not worth following.

The hospital surveillance tapes had proved equally useless. There was a five minute gap in their coverage, the result of a computer crashing just at the time everything had gone down. The techies strongly suspected, but couldn't conclusively prove, that it'd been hacked.

The guard who'd been tranqued had been a dead end as well. He'd remembered nothing. It was thought he'd been hit by one of the new twilight darts, ones that obliterated the last fifteen minutes or so from a person's memory.

With those leads exhausted, they'd had to agree on their next course of action. Although both were capable of stealthy, leopard-like tactics (she, more than him), neither had been in the mood for that type of cautious, time consuming strategy.

The approach they did wind up taking was much more akin to that of a bull elephant cutting a swath through the murky undergrowth of their world than anything else.

Every marker was called in.

Every favor was cashed in.

Pressure was applied.

Threats were uttered.

Soon, very soon, they had a short list of possibilities. Individuals or organizations that, while they might not be directly involved, might have information that could lead them to whom they sought.

All those on that list knew what was coming. The word was put out and a truce of sorts was struck.

Effectively, all of them were told, "You tell us all you know about this incident and we'll leave you and/or your pissant organization alone for the time being."

The smart ones had opened their books, so to speak, eager to prove they had nothing to do with the situation in question. And they'd readily volunteered anything else which might be of the smallest use to the pair.

The not so smart ones panicked. Fled from the approaching juggernaut as if they were insects roused from the grass by the passage of some large animal. And, similar to those insects, were easy to spot once they'd been frightened from their places of concealment. The various governmental agencies had quickly recognized what was happening, and, like swooping birds, had picked them off one by one. Then, out of gratitude, they'd given the team some time with the captives to ascertain their usefulness.

The really stupid ones had foolishly stood their ground, believing themselves to be immovable objects, but had discovered very quickly that Walker and Casey were, in fact, an irresistible force.

Upon this realization, some, in desperation, had gone so far as to try and take the two of them out, but after a couple of swift, sharp, salutary lessons had been administered, the survivors had wisely backed off.

It was only when dealing with these recalcitrant individuals, that Casey had seen any trace of a smile on her face. But it was a grim one, one she showed only to those who senselessly chose to remain stubborn, to stupidly, selfishly guard the information being requested from them. Casey was sure that most, if not all, would have nightmares about that smile until their dying day. For, in the end, they all talked.

Aside from those times, there'd had been only a single occasion where he'd seen her display anything except a relentlessly severe dedication to their task.

They'd been in Durban, staying in some crappy hotel. He'd been in the adjoining room, mulling over their unsuccessful efforts of the past couple of days, when a potential lead had suddenly come to him. Excited by the idea, he'd silently (the lock was broken) opened the connecting door without thinking.

She'd been sitting on the far edge of the bed, her back turned, with a photo in her hands. He'd only caught a glimpse of it, but had immediately recognized it as the one he'd taken of her and Chuck when they'd been on that road trip to find Roan Montgomery. A photo that had been taken to shore up their cover, but one that clearly meant much more to her.

She'd barely made a sound as he'd watched her shoulders heaving, her choking sobs almost totally silent. He'd sensed, rather than seen, the tears running down her cheeks. He'd never seen her cry before, at least not real tears, so hadn't had any idea of what to do.

Fortunately, she hadn't noticed him, so he'd been able to quietly back out. Five minutes later, he knocked on the door, and, hearing her "Come in," had done just that. There was no sign of the photo, and almost no sign of the recent emotional outburst in her face.

She'd been all business as he'd told her his idea, but, like pretty much all of their leads, it hadn't panned out in the end.

Much of what they did learn pointed to the Ring as being likely culprits. This surprised neither of them, because, right from the start, they'd seemed to be the logical choice. But there had always been the big question of why they hadn't tried to capture, rather than kill him.

In one of there many brainstorming sessions, they decided that it was just possible that The Ring had somehow found out that Chuck was no longer the Intersect. That he was no longer of any use to them. So their mission had simply become one of vengeance, a repayment for the damage Team Bartowski had done to their organization.

However, neither of them were really satisfied with that scenario.

Even though they knew the Ring had been considerably weakened by the efforts of Team Bartowski, it was still beyond their ability to tackle that organization head on. However, armed with the information they'd gleaned, they were able to track down a number of individual Ring agents.

These, they'd dragged in and vigorously questioned. Each time it'd proven to be a futile exercise. After the fifth agent had been drained and turned over (and, like all of her comrades, thankful she was in a condition to _be_ turned over) to local agencies, they'd realized they were not likely going to find out anything definitive.

At that point, something almost unprecedented had happened. A senior Ring official contacted them and offered to meet, under the spy version of a flag of truce, at a time and place of their choosing.

After Casey had set up an over-watch position, the details were transmitted and the meeting took place.

The man Walker had met was short, rotund, balding, and wore thick glasses. Bland. Not the picture most would have of a man high up in such a ruthless organization as the Ring.

He'd politely requested that the two of them refrain from their current course of action. When she had asked why, he'd replied that it was of a waste of their time to pursue his agents. The Ring had nothing to do with the death of Charles Irving Bartowski, so nothing would be gained by any further efforts along those lines.

When she'd sarcastically asked why she should believe anything he said, his reply had been that the Ring had let the team have a number of agents without interfering and without retaliating. A show of good faith, if you will. However, enough was enough. If she and Agent Casey persisted, there would be consequences.

After a few moments thought, she'd asked out loud for Casey's opinion. Through his scope, he'd seen the little man smile (the only sign of any emotion he had demonstrated during the whole time), obviously well aware that Walker and himself were not the only parties to this conversation.

Since the man's reasoning pretty much agreed with what they thought anyway, he told her that he was agreeable. He had, however, asked for permission to shoot the man just based on principle, but she'd reluctantly (he'd been certain) shaken her head.

After that, they'd focused their efforts elsewhere, various rumors taking them more than once around the globe.

One trail they'd followed had particularly stuck in Casey's mind. It'd occurred in late February when she'd been contacted by a CSIS agent named Henri Béliveau. They'd agreed to meet him at a café in old Québec City,

When Casey had asked how they would recognize him, she'd tersely replied that they'd worked together on a brief mission some years ago. She hadn't elaborated and he hadn't pressed.

…

 _It's a bitterly cold evening. Even from where they sit at the rear, and despite the valiant efforts of the heating system, Casey can feel the draft each time the door to the café opens._

 _When a handsome man in his mid-thirties enters, Casey knows instinctively that this is their contact. He can see the man sizing up the place, rapidly sweeping his eyes over the patrons. Quickly spotting the two of them at the back, he relaxes a little._

 _He hands his coat to the hostess, bestowing upon her a dazzling smile, then starts walking towards them, carefully brushing the snow from his perfectly coiffed hair. Casey sees the looks the women in the place give him, also sees that he pretends to ignore them._

 _As Henri approaches their table, the man's smile fades for a second. It's quite clear that this isn't the Sarah Walker that he'd expected to see. The one from the mission they'd shared._

 _While her intrinsic beauty is nearly impossible to hide, at the moment there's no softness to it, no vivacity. Instead, there's only severity and dour, hard edges. Scarcely a trace of makeup. No jewelry. Hair pulled back into a tight bun. Dressed in black from head to toe._

 _Henri pauses, but then gallantly puts his smile back on as he reaches their table._

 _They both stand. Henri speaks first. "Ah, Sarah, ma belle, it is so good to see you once again."_

 _For a moment, it appears he's going to move in and kiss her on the cheeks, but at the last second thinks better of it._

 _Instead, he offers his hand which she briefly takes. Turning to Casey, he makes the same gesture. There's a brief battle for dominance in the handshake, which Casey quickly wins._

 _Holding back his wince, Henri says, respect in his voice, "Major Casey. Even up here we have heard of you and your…exploits, shall we say. It is good to meet you."_

 _Casey grunts an acknowledgement as they all sit._

 _Henri smiles. "A man of few words, I see. It is clear your strengths lie elsewhere."_

 _Casey grunts again._

 _Losing her patience, she speaks up. "I'm sorry, Henri, but we really don't have time for pleasantries. You said you had some information for us?"_

 _Apparently taken back by her almost rude straightforwardness, he doesn't answer for a moment or two._

" _Yes, Sarah. When I heard you were seeking information, I kept my ears to the ground. Nothing much happened until quite recently._

" _A few days ago, one of my colleagues returned after spending a year in our Vancouver office. We met for drinks two nights ago and spent the evening getting caught up. In the course of discussing the regular office gossip, she told me an odd little story._

" _It seems that about the time you'd begun your quest, an American, a computer genius of sorts, had mysteriously shown up at her office. No one seemed to know his background, how he'd gotten there, or what exactly he was doing there. Just shows up and dutifully works the day shift. And, although he mostly kept to himself, he was friendly and outgoing. But he gave away nothing. When she'd mentioned his name was Charles, your request immediately came to mind. The last name was not the one that had been floating around the intelligence community for the past few months, but I felt it was worth pursuing."_

 _To the casual onlooker, her demeanor would've appeared unchanged, but to Casey, there's clearly an undercurrent of something. Excitement? Hope? He's not sure._

 _She replies calmly, deliberately, "Do you have a photo of him?"_

" _Unfortunately, no. And I could not access his file. All I was able to gather is that he is on some sort of loan from one of your agencies. Engaged in a top-secret project of some sort. I was unable to ascertain which agency."_

 _Casey can almost see her bit her lip, trying to hold her emotions in check. "Did your friend describe him?"_

 _Henri gives her a long look, and Casey knows the man senses there's more going on here than meets the eye._

" _Yes, Sarah, she did. Tall, a little on the thin side. Brown hair, cut fairly short. She also said he has brown eyes, and, as she put it, 'a very nice smile'._

 _Suddenly, she stands. "Excuse me. I need to use the washroom."_

 _Before either man can react, she disappears into the back of the café._

 _Henri looks in the direction she'd gone, clearly puzzled. Turning back to Casey, he asks, "What has happened to her, my friend? It appears that she is in mourning."_

 _Biting back his irritation at being addressed as Henri's friend, Casey replies, "She has her reasons."_

 _Henri nods, surely recognizes that Casey is not the type to elaborate, but his curiosity is too powerful._

" _This Charles, he meant something to her?"_

" _Not my place to say."_

" _I understand, but, if I had to guess, it would seem that this man had somehow touched her heart. I tried, but there was a coolness within it that I was unable to warm." He shakes his head. "If this Charles had managed to do so, I can see why she would feel bereft." Henri sadly shakes his head. "I would have liked to have met such a man."_

 _Casey doesn't comment._

 _Henri gives him a look. "I see that you are a good partner, Major Casey. You clearly care for her welfare. I know you will look after her."_

 _Casey grunts._

 _Just then, she returns to their table, but doesn't sit._

 _She addresses the CSIS agent. "Thank you, Henri. Casey and I will look into the matter. I trust you won't tell anyone else about this?"_

 _The man nods. "Of course not, Sarah._

" _Thank you._

 _He stands. "You are much more than welcome." He looks into her eyes. "Sarah, I hope you will find that which you need." He pauses. "To take away this sadness that has enveloped you."_

 _This time, she submits to the gentle kiss on the cheek the man gives her. "Au revoir, ma chérie."_

 _Henri turns away, but not before giving Casey a significant look. A few moments later, he passes through the front door, back into the cold night air_

 _..._

 _Tacitly, they'd agreed that they wouldn't tell Beckman about this particular line of investigation. To that end, they'd taken a commercial flight, both using fake Canadian ID's that were unknown to their superiors._

 _The animation that the meeting with_ _B_ _éliveau_ _l had generated within her, hadn't dissipated during the long flight to the coast. To Casey, it'd been plain to see in the way she'd held herself, the lightness in her steps. It was almost as if a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders._

 _Neither of them had spoken much during the flight, both clearly grappling with all the implications, professional and private, of actually finding Chuck alive and well._

 _About half an hour before they were to land in Vancouver, she'd disappeared into the washroom. When she'd come out twenty minutes later, her hair was down. Her makeup was carefully and fully applied. She'd changed her top to a blue one with little buttons._

 _It was one he'd seen before, one he knew Chuck had liked. Why she even had it with her puzzled him, but only for a moment._

 _Casey had wisely said nothing, and she'd made no effort to explain_

 _It'd been early morning when the commercial jet landed, touching down under a grey and dreary looking sky. Thankfully, it'd been much warmer than where they'd just come from._

 _Casey had called ahead for a vehicle and as they'd approached it, he'd felt, rather than seen her roll her eyes at his choice._

 _A black Chevy Suburban._

 _As he'd driven, she'd gone online and found the floor-plan for the building that housed the CSIS office. They decided their best opportunity to catch sight of him would be in the lobby. They were early enough to catch the employees arriving for the day shift. Both had hoped that their target would arrive at work this morning. Otherwise, they'd have to find someway to stake out the place and wait._

 _As they'd drawn closer to their destination, both had been surprised to find that the office tower they sought was attached to a very large mall. The good part was they wouldn't stand out as much with all the people around._

 _They'd found a coffee shop in the lobby, so sat at separate tables to surreptitiously observe the people entering the building._

 _Truth be told, Casey had spent as much time watching her as he did the people entering the lobby. To his trained eye, she'd been tense, metaphorically on the edge of her seat, awaiting, with eager anticipation, for their subject to show himself._

 _Finally, just before nine, a large group had entered the building. At the back of it, his eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses, had walked a tall, brown haired man, chatting with a petite brunette at his side. They'd clearly heard the woman address him as Charles, however, with the glasses and his head turned, it_ _'_ _d been impossible to say if it was him for a second or two._

 _But as he'd approached the elevators, he'd removed his glasses and looked straight ahead._

 _It wasn't him. Yes, there was a similarity of stature and facial features, but, clearly, this wasn't Chuck Bartowski._

 _Casey had stolen a glance her way, had seen the literal slump in her shoulders and had sensed the mental one. The light went out in her eyes. In the days and weeks that'd followed, he'd never seen it again._

 _..._

That day had marked the beginning of the end. All of their other leads quickly petered out, and after months of criss-crossing the globe, they'd found themselves no closer to an answer.

It was a bitter pill, one difficult to swallow, but, eventually, they'd both had to admit to Beckman that they'd failed. She'd applauded their efforts but firmly told them it was time to move on, back to their regular duties.

Casey had reluctantly agreed, but Walker had abruptly told them she was going to resign.

Both the General and Casey had, each in their own way, tried to talk her out of it, but she'd remained adamant.

Five days later, she'd disappeared, dropped off the face of the earth like the ghost she'd always been. At least previous to her time in Burbank.

Casey had found out she'd traded her Porsche for a British Army Defender, which gave him a general clue about her type of hiding place. He'd made some inquires, but nothing had ever come to light about her exact whereabouts. Recognizing her right and her need for privacy, he'd pursued it no further. Having resolved himself to the fact that he'd likely never see her again, he'd buried himself in his work and had done his best to put those years in Burbank behind him.

…

 _1 month ago._

The bar stool, even with its thick padding, isn't particularly comfortable. But John Casey finds that good Scotch provides a decent buffer for his pain in his butt. He lets out a soft grunt, reminiscing that Bartowski had certainly been just that for pretty much all the time they'd worked together.

He misses the moron.

As he raises his hand for another round, a shorter, somewhat stocky man seats himself on the empty stool to his right. At first, Casey doesn't recognize him, but it quickly clicks in.

"Well, if it isn't Second Lieutenant James Davis."

The man turns quickly, a surprised smile on his face. "Major Casey. It's good to see you again sir."

"I'm not in your chain of command, James. John is fine."

"Thank you, Maj…John. And it's Captain James Davis now."

Casey offers his hand, which is quickly taken. "Congratulations. How long?"

"About a year now."

"Still with First Recon?"

"Yes. Got back a month ago from my latest tour in the Sandbox."

"Where were you stationed?"

"Mosul."

The Major grunts. "Got some interesting memories of that hell hole. How many years ago was it?"

"Five or so. That was quite the mission you took my platoon on. If I may say so, sir, I've never seen a shot like that. Unbelievable."

"Thanks, James. But it wouldn't have happened if your guys hadn't gotten me close enough."

"Still, it was incredible to see."

Both are quiet for a few seconds.

Casey breaks the silence. "So what have you been doing with yourself since you've been back stateside? Family?"

"No. Nothing like that." He pauses. "There was someone I'd gone out with about a year ago. Name was Gillian. Nice girl. Brunette. Worked over at Fort Meade." He looks at Casey. "Maybe you met her? She worked in IT."

Casey shakes his head. The IT department isn't the kind of place he'd normally hang around.

James shrugs his shoulders. "When I got back, I tried to look her up, but she wasn't there anymore. Got transferred. They wouldn't tell me where. So I gave it up and went hunting. A friend of mine had told me about the Pronghorns up there in Wyoming. Quick little buggers, so decided to head on up and try my hand. Thought one their heads might look good on my wall."

Casey had never taken with the idea of hunting just for sport. Sure, he'd killed for food, but had never seen the point of killing just for the sake of killing, even though those familiar with his record might tend to disagree.

James stops and chuckles, a little ruefully. "And wouldn't you know it, the strangest thing happened while I was in Casper. Who do I run into, but Gillian?'

Casey nods to show he's following, while doing his best to restrain his impatience, the story starting to bore him a little.

"I was looking around for a diner, when I saw her walking down the other side of the street. Tried to get her attention, but she went into one of the businesses before I managed to do so. Figured it had to be fate, so I crossed over and followed her into the building. It was a local ISP and it turned out she worked there. Was sitting behind the front desk when I walked in. She was even better looking than I'd remembered.

"She recognized me right away, but seemed uneasy. Understandable, as I figured that the place was some sort of NSA front. She asked me what I was doing there and I filled her in. We chatted for a while and she relaxed a bit. I was just thinking about inviting her to lunch, when her boss came out from the back. When I saw the way she looked at him, I knew there was no sense in me trying."

Casey bites his tongue, regretting he'd asked the question in the first place. He just hopes that the man doesn't start talking about his feelings and crap like that.

Shaking his head, the captain continues, "I didn't get it. The guy was tall, kinda lanky. Mop of curly brown hair. Sorta goofy looking in my opinion." He shrugs his shoulders. "Whatever it was, she clearly had the hots for him."

Casey's ears perk up. "Did you catch his name?"

James looks at the Major, seemingly puzzled about why the man possibly would want that information.

After a second's hesitation, he replies, "Yeah, she addressed him as Mr. McNeil when he first walked into the reception area. That's how I figured he was her boss."

Casey deflates a little. "Did you happen to catch the first name?"

"No, I don't think so." He pauses, thinking. "No. Wait. When he was leaving, he turned back as if he wanted to tell her something and she asked, 'Yes, Chuck?'

"I ask you, what kind of parent would name their kid Chuck?"

 **TBC**

— —

A/N: Casey's on the trail. Until next time. Lots of great stories making the rounds right now. Encouraging to see there's still interest in Chuck and Sarah. All of us writing here appreciate your reviews. Thank you for taking the time to do so.


	5. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Four

A/N: Sorry this is so late, but real life, as it so often does, got in the way.

Thanks to michaelfmx for his patient assistance and kind suggestions. Any errors are my fault.

Don't own Chuck at al.

Enjoy!

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS—THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 4

 _Present Day_

Sarah turns away, her shoulders heaving, her head down in her hands. It's clear she's embarrassed to let Casey see her like this.

He has no idea what to do. Crying women make him feel acutely uncomfortable. In the past, he would literally back away, like he'd done that time he'd caught her unaware. If that wasn't possible, he would do so emotionally, hide behind his barriers. Dismiss such displays as being frivolous "Lady Feelings", only worthy of his manly contempt.

But to do so now would be cowardly. He knows from personal experience just how incredibly tough the woman weeping before him actually is. He's been at her side as they've, time after time, faced down situations that tax the extreme limits of human courage. And yet he's never seen her flinch.

To retreat again or dismiss her feelings as weak, womanly, unworthy of his acknowledgment would be shameful.

Unmanly.

Even so, he's still unsure of what he should _actually_ do.

It's perhaps fortunate for him that the two dogs, clearly sensing Sarah's emotional distress, choose this moment to launch themselves from the porch and run quickly to her side. Casey swears that, somehow, the dogs actually _look_ worried.

The yellow one, Ed (Casey thinks), raises himself on his back legs, gently pawing at her thigh, trying to get her attention. The other sits at her feet, looking up, whining, placing his front paw softly on her foot. That is until Casey, still unsure of himself, makes a slight movement in Sarah's direction. Then Chase (by process of elimination) turns and growls, clearly letting Casey know that she's _their_ person and it's _their_ job to take care of her. He comes no closer, the growling stops and the small black and white mutt turns back to the task at hand.

Warned off, Casey stays where he is. Just watching and waiting as she works through it.

A few minutes pass. The sobs lessen and eventually halt. She swipes at her eyes before crouching down and giving each of the dogs an affectionate hug. Then she stands and turns to him, saying, "We've got a lot to talk to about, Casey. Let's go inside and have that coffee."

She leads the way, the two dogs following close on her heels, both anxiously looking up at her to make certain she's OK. After bending over and giving each a tender scratch behind the ears, she smilingly orders them back to their beds. She opens the door, invites him to go first and then follows him in.

Casey looks around the interior. It's as neat as a pin, but what really hits him is how austere the place is. There's a single bed over in one corner. Under a window, sits a lone rocking chair beside a tiny table. A sole bookcase. A small table with a solitary chair in what might be charitably called the kitchen area.

Nothing on the walls. No photos. No pictures. No rugs on the wooden floor. No real color anywhere. Nothing to break up the bleakness of it all.

The only concession to anything other than this seemingly cloistered existence is the pair of dog beds at the foot of her bed.

After lighting a couple of lanterns, she goes over to the wood stove and, using a cloth, picks up the coffee pot, takes it to the counter. There she grabs two mugs (he's momentarily surprised she even has more than one) and quickly fills them, the steam rising from each.

Even from behind, Casey can clearly see how hard she's trying to rein in her emotions.

Without turning, she asks, "Still take it black?"

He nods, then realizing she can't see the gesture, replies, "Yeah. Still the same."

"Sorry you had to witness that little scene outside."

"What scene?"

She nods. Doesn't comment. After returning the coffee pot to the stove, she places a mug on the small table, invites him to take the chair.

Politely, he tries to refuse, but she waves him off.

"I've been sedentary far too long as it is."

He doesn't comment, just slips off his backpack and places it on the floor. Then he sits, while she leans back against the tiny kitchen counter, her mug held in both hands.

He takes a sip. "Good coffee."

"Thanks."

Silence.

He decides to wait her out.

A minute or so later, she quietly asks, "How is he?"

"He's well. Maybe even put on a few pounds. Certainly could use them. Hair's a little longer than the last time we saw him. Other than that, he looks pretty much the same."

She frowns. "You know that's not what I mean. _How is he,_ John?"

He looks her in the eye for a few seconds before answering. "I tailed him for a couple of days before I made contact. He has his routine. Seems to have settled into the pace of the place."

She nods, waiting for Casey to go on.

"He's got some people who care for him. From what I've seen and heard, a couple who run a diner up there seem to have taken him under their wing."

She looks down at the floor, nods. "That's good." A few seconds pass, before she asks, even more quietly than before, "Do you think he's found someone?"

He shakes his head. "Hard to say. Didn't see any signs. However, there _is_ a woman he works with who likes _him_. "

He sees her shoulders slump, ever so slightly. "Oh."

Casey adds, "I saw them walking together a couple of times. Once after work. Once when they went to lunch. Easy to see how she felt. But I didn't see anything special in the way he acted. Probably just friends."

Sarah opens her mouth, but he forestalls her. "Before you ask. She's a brunette. Around five-five."

She closes her mouth, seeming to bite off a curse.

Quietly, he adds, "Sarah, for what it's worth, I never saw him look at her the way he used to look at you."

She flushes, turns her head.

Silence.

A few seconds pass before she continues, her voice sounding unsure, almost as if she doesn't want to hear the answer.

"Do you think he's happy?"

"I only talked to him that one time, but, from what I heard and saw, I'd say he's not unhappy. He doesn't know that he _should_ be unhappy because he has no idea of _what_ and _whom_ they've taken away from him."

She nods thoughtfully.

"Do you think it's right for us to go up there and take that all away from him? Maybe, given time, he and..."

"Gillian."

She looks at him, mouth agape. "Oh come on! A short brunette who likes him and just happens to be named Gillian. Are you freaking serious?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I am. Don't worry, it's not her, although there is a passing resemblance."

Fuming, she mumbles, "Who the hell comes up with this stuff?"

He holds in his smile. Doesn't reply.

Sarah shakes her head. "Well, maybe given time, he and this Gillian," she almost spits out the name before going on, "might find a way to have a real life up there. Do you think it's right for us to play god? To just march up and grab him, knowing that there's no guarantee we can fix him? Is it fair for us to take away what might be the only chance he has to find some joy in his life?"

He can tell she's trying to convince herself to believe the words she's saying. That'll she'll be able to walk away without even trying.

It's Casey's turn to shake his head. "I thought about that. And whether it'd be a cruelty or a kindness to bring him home. What if he stays a stranger to Ellie and the others? Maybe it'd be better to just leave things the way they are. They've come to accept he's gone. Do we want to open up all those wounds again?"

She looks at him, searchingly. "It seems like this trip has made you a little philosophical."

"Well, it was a long drive. And there was nothing good on the radio."

She smiles, just a little.

"I didn't try to find you until I was completely sure it was him. Didn't want a repeat of what happened in Vancouver." She flinches.

He pauses. "But even after I knew, I wasn't sure I should tell you."

She slams her mug down on the counter, some of the coffee spilling over the top.

"What the hell, Casey? You don't have the right to make that kind of decision!"

Leaving his mug on the table, he holds up his hands in surrender.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. I thought about it for maybe ten seconds before I realized that I had to give you the chance to make up your own mind."

She's still fuming, but nods jerkily. "OK."

He smirks. "Besides, I didn't relish the idea of having my body parts scattered over five states if you somehow found out that I knew, but didn't tell you."

She just glares at him, his attempt at humor falling flat.

"Before you give me any more of that, how's what I thought of doing any different from what you and I are thinking of doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"As you put it, we're fixin' to 'play god'. Deciding for Ellie, for Devon, for Morgan," he pauses, "for Chuck, what direction their lives are going to take from this point forward. If we go ahead and try to bring him back, we're not going to just be upsetting the applecart. We're going to be tossing the whole damn thing off a pretty big cliff."

Sarah takes a breath or two before replying. "And if we do nothing, we could be cheating them all of what could be."

He nods.

Silence. A longer one this time.

"OK, Casey. What's your take? Go or no go?"

"Already told you outside how I feel. We need to rescue the poor sap. ASAP. You?"

She doesn't respond for few seconds. "Go. If we don't, I could never look Ellie in the eye again."

"Don't see you doing much of that right now."

She glares at him at him again. "You know what I mean."

"OK. How about you?"

"What?"

"How are you gonna handle it if he doesn't have any idea who you are? Think you'll be able to live with it if it stays that way?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I thought he was dead for a year. I'm still living."

He looks around the cabin, before looking at her again. The words are left unsaid, but his meaning is clear.

She fidgets a bit, picks up her mug again, looking down into to it as she replies, unconvincingly, "I'll cope."

Silence.

He looks at her long and hard. Her appearance, her body language, this cabin, all of it makes it painfully obvious that she'd barely hung on when she'd believed he was gone. There's no way she'll be able to do so if he's around, but not in her life. Casey's certain the only way she'll be able to cope would be to return to the field, lose herself once again in mission after mission, until, perhaps mercifully, there's a conclusion.

She interrupts his train of thought. "How _did_ you find him anyway?"

He tells her the story of his accidental meet with the Marine Captain. How, after the conversation. he believed that he'd finally found the truth.

There's a combination of astonishment and frustration in her voice. "You mean to tell me that after all those months, after all that effort, the answer just fell out of the sky?"

"Yep. Wasn't even planning to be there that night. Was walking by and remembered they had a scotch I really liked. Thought it might help with my pain in the ass."

"Who?"

"No, a literal pain. Idiot partner let someone shoot me in the butt."

"Thought I noticed a trace of a limp. Thought it was because you got a little worn out climbing up here."

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"So, you good to go?"

"Yeah, it's pretty much healed."

She nods. "Why were you so positive it would turn out to be him?"

"Gut told me. It's just the way Beckman would do it. Some place out of the way. Small city. Casper, up in Wyoming. Far from the mainstream. Unlike Vancouver."

"You think Vancouver was a set-up? A red herring?"

"Looking back now, I'd say yes. A long con. Plant the guy there. Wait and see if anyone in the community, after the word was put out, would spot him. She gave us the taste, built up our hopes and then let us find out first hand that it wasn't him. After that washout, it's less likely we'd actually think she'd actually done anything like that for real."

She's thoughtful. "I agree. And, in the future, if we heard a similar rumor, we'd be more likely to discount it as a dead end. Convoluted."

"Well, she didn't get where she is by being straightforward."

"What if it hadn't worked? What if no one noticed, brought it to our attention?"

"Doubt she considered it to be critical. Just her covering the bases."

He looks her straight in the face. "You do know that the whole thing was mostly directed at you? Trying to take you out of the game?"

She replies, "Yeah, I can see that now. She figured she could take some of the wind out my sails." She pauses before embarrassedly adding, "It worked too. Never did have the same drive after that."

He doesn't comment, doesn't tell her how much he'd also been affected by that fruitless chase.

After a few moments of silence, she asks, "What did you do next?"

"Went to Beckman, told her I needed some time off. Vacation"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "John Casey taking a vacation?"

"That was about the same reaction I got from her.

"I'd been on desk duty, which I really am crap at. Couldn't stand being tied down. So I told her I'd like some time off. Said I'd have to hang 'em up someday, so thought I would check out some future retirement places while I had the opportunity."

"She bought that?"

"A lot of what I said was true. You know how it works, Walker. Keep the lie as close to the truth as possible. It's gonna happen, just not gonna happen tomorrow."

She nods. "Or the day after, knowing you."

He shrugs. "Practiced a while before I talked to her. She was reluctant, but in the end said yes. I imagine she'd already had some requests to move me out of the office. I suppose I wasn't exactly the easiest person to get along with."

He sounds a touch rueful and she chuckles, just a little. It's the first time since...he's not really sure.

"Before I left, I requested access to NSA resources. Told her I wanted to track you down. Just to make sure you were OK. Then I flew to Burbank, checked in on everyone and picked up my Crown Vic. Then took a drive."

"They didn't know where you were going, I hope?"

He patiently replies, "Not my first rodeo, Walker. Checked the car for trackers. Changed plates. Paid cash as I went along. SOP."

"Sorry. How did you handle it when you needed to contact the NSA? When you were trying to track me down?"

"That's where something your boyfriend whipped up come in handy."

She flushes a little at the term, but doesn't deny it.

"Remember the day when that mission on the Thai diplomat got put on hold for a few hours? Chuck and I were stuck in Castle while you had to man the fort up at the Double O."

She nods.

"Well, I was in a bad mood, bored, and I sort of challenged him to show me how clever he was. Not just theory stuff. Actually show me he could do something useful with that brain of his. A while later, he came out the workshop and showed me a little box with a number keypad on top. Asked what it was and he told me it would spoof my location when I was using a phone or a computer. Just plug in the coordinates of where I wanted people to _think_ I was and the box would do the rest. Told him we already had something like that, but he told me that, unlike ours, his would work so that no one, not even the NSA, would ever know they were being spoofed. He gave it to me. Tested it and it worked, but never had much use for it until now. As far as they know, I was in southern Arizona." He shakes his head. "Never thought I'd need to hide from my own people."

She gives him a sympathetic nod.

"Didn't know which ISP he was at, didn't want to push it with Davis, but only a couple were downtown, near restaurants and such. Got lucky and hit it first time out."

Now that the narrative is coming close to the part where he first sees Chuck, Casey notices her rapt attention, how she leans in a little, as if to make sure she doesn't miss a word or expression. Then he sees it.

Even though he can tell she's trying to be unemotional, cautious, there's life in her eyes once more. And even though there's no guarantee it'll work out the way they want, he can tell that hope has taken up residence in her heart once more.

"Parked a block down with a good view of the place. Got there an hour before business hours started. He actually walked right by me on his way to work, but the moron never noticed. The kid always was crappy at spotting surveillance."

Casey doesn't realize how much affection had crept into his voice until he looks her way and sees the small smile on her lips.

A little embarrassed, he plows on. "Followed him home that night. Next morning, trailed him to that little diner I mentioned. Place called Clandra's. He stopped for breakfast. Sat right in the front window, so it was easy to see his interactions with the waitress. Not hard to tell they were friends. She even reached down and straightened his collar a little." He sees something flash across her face. Annoyance? Jealousy? It comes and goes so quickly that he's not sure what it was.

"The place was quiet, so the cook came out, and, after giving the waitress a kiss, sat down and had a coffee with them. The three of them talked and joked around for a while, until some more customers came in."

"They sound nice."

"Seem to be. And the food's good too. But it was easy to see that his attraction to the place goes beyond those reasons, although I doubt he consciously knows why."

"What do you mean?"

"That, I'll leave for you to figure out on your own. It'll be pretty clear when you see Clark and Sandra for yourself."

It appears she's about to ask again, but thinks better of it.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, she speaks again. "We can't take the dogs with us. Might attract attention."

Casey grunts in agreement. He hadn't wanted the little mongrels dirtying up the backseat of his car in any case.

"Gonna drop them off somewhere?"

She shakes her head. "No. There's a man, a member of the Ute tribe, who lives up here in the mountains for half the year or so. I see him once or twice a month. We have coffee. Share a meal. Talk a bit. A very little bit. He told me he doesn't like living in town, but has to come down around this time. Starting to get too cold. He likes Chase and Ed, and they like him and his dog. I'm fairly certain he'll be willing to stay here while we're gone."

"How are you gonna contact him?"

She grins. "I'll show you."

Stepping over to the small table beside the rocking chair, she opens a drawer. Pulling out a pistol, the Smith & Wesson he remembers from before, she quickly checks the magazine, then walks toward the door.

"Come with me."

Casey follows her out the door and watches as she walks about twenty feet away from the cabin. Ed and Chase follow her, sit at her feet.

Aiming the pistol straight up, she flips off the safety and lets off a series of shots, two close, two spaced out, then three more close together. Casey notices that the dogs don't even flinch, apparently used to the sound of gunfire.

She lowers the gun, flips on the safety and turns to him.

"A little code we worked out. That one means, 'Please come to the cabin tomorrow morning.' If he's nearby, I should hear his reply shortly."

As she utters the words, there's the faint sound of what he thinks are two closely spaced rifle shots. From experience, Casey would estimate the distance at about two or three miles.

"Good. He'll be here early tomorrow. That way we can get a good start. We'll need to stop in Denver for a couple of hours. Few things I need to do."

"No problem. Casper's only about five hours from there."

"OK. You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Got some venison stew I could heat up."

"Sounds good."

He follows her inside again, this time the dogs coming along. After placing her S&W back in the drawer, she goes to a small cabinet he hadn't noticed before and opens the door, revealing a small fridge. She pulls out a container.

"Thought you don't have electricity."

As she dishes some of the food into two dog bowls, she replies, "Don't. Run it and hot water off a propane tank. Artesian well gives me running water, so you can have a hot shower later if you want."

The idea of a shower sounds good. He looks around. "Where?"

She dumps the rest of the container into a pot and places it on the stove, then gestures with her head towards a door at the back of the cabin. "Proper washroom with a septic field."

Walking toward the front door, she places the two bowls on the floor, side by side. Chase and Ed, obviously hungry, immediately start eating, but with none of the selfish snarling that dogs so often exhibit toward anyone near their food.

She walks back to the stove and, after checking the fire, throws in some more wood from a nearby bin. "Should be ready in ten minutes or so. You wanna wash up?"

"Yeah, I could use the facilities. Back in a bit."

…

That night, as he sleeps on the floor, he hears her thrashing about on her bed. She moans, her words indistinct, but Casey thinks he can pick out "Chuck" and "sorry" more than once. Then, in the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, he sees Ed and Chase jump up on the bed and nestle in close to comfort her. Soon after, she calms down and he hears the sound of her regular breathing as she falls back to sleep.

He doesn't say anything about it the next morning.

…

Casey's sitting on the front porch, waiting for Walker to finish her shower, when her dogs first warn Casey of the man's proximity. Before he hears or sees anything, the two of them suddenly become alert, listening, looking towards the edge of the woods a hundred feet or so away. Casey stands, reaching around his back to place his hand on the grip of his Sig-Sauer.

Seconds later a man, a big man, walks out from the trees, a black and white border collie at his side. He's wearing a large backpack and over his shoulder is slung a rifle that, even from a distance, Casey has no trouble recognizing as a Springfield '03.

Ed and Chase jump from the porch and, running as fast as their short legs enable them to, dash toward the newcomers. Casey relaxes. The border collie looks up to his companion and, upon receiving a nod, sprints off to meet the two smaller dogs heading his way. Very quickly, the three of them are tearing around, play fighting, tumbling over each other, obviously happy to see each other.

The man, who looks to be about Casey's age, stops a few feet away, studying him for a few seconds before grunting a very Casey-like grunt. The Major, in turn, studies the man before him. He's even bigger than he first appeared, with a couple of inches on Casey and probably twenty or thirty pounds, all of it muscle. His long hair is dark, tied into a neat queue.

His voice is deep and, as he speaks, Casey is fairly certain that the man doesn't get the chance to use it very much. Instead of the words flowing naturally, easily, it appears he that has to concentrate on dredging up them up from some almost forgotten place.

"You're not the one."

Casey's not sure what words he'd expected to hear, but these were certainly not them.

"Not which one?"

"The one she lost. The one she has nightmares about. The one she dreams of seeing once more."

"You're right, I'm not. Has she talked to you about him?"

"No."

Casey waits for him to elaborate, but, after a few moments pass, realizes the man isn't going to add anything more.

"Then how do you know?"

The look Casey receives seems to be almost one of pity. "She's in mourning. It's obvious in everything she does. How she speaks. A woman such as her loves only once. She wouldn't be here by herself unless he was gone."

"And the nightmares? The dreams?"

"When I visit, I sleep on the porch. I hear her moans, her cries. His name."

Casey nods, remembering last night. He's about to ask more when the door opens and she steps out, her hair still damp.

Smiling, she exclaims, "John!"

Both men turn to her and nod.

Chuckling, she says, "Sorry. I guess I should introduce you two. John Casey, this is John Standing Bear."

Casey offers his hand, prepares himself for a battle of strength, but John's handshake, while firm, has no combativeness in it.

The man regards Sarah for few seconds, then gently says, "He's come to life. And you've found him."

She nods, emphatically, happily. "Yes. Casey and I are going to bring him home. That's why we need you to stay here for a while. To take care of Chase and Ed. If that's OK with you?"

"Of course." He pauses before asking, "He must have had good reasons for not contacting you?"

Sarah and Casey exchange a glance before she replies, "He doesn't know who he really is. His memory of me has been taken away."

He nods, his queue bobbing slightly. "When he sees you, memories will return."

She's hopeful. "You think so?"

"Yes, it's not possible to entirely forget someone such as yourself."

She ducks her head, embarrassed.

"Will you be putting yourself in danger to retrieve him?"

Again she glances at Casey. He shakes his head.

She replies, "No, it's not likely. Why do you ask?"

"I would've been obligated to accompany you if it had been so."

Sarah grabs his hand, gives it a squeeze. "Thank you, John, but Casey's a great partner. Always has my back."

John looks at the Major. "Yes, I can see that. Clearly, you two are no strangers to difficult situations."

Looking back at her, he smiles, plainly something he's not used to doing on a regular basis.

"It's good to see you alive once more, Sarah. I'll stay here, but I will ask one thing from you."

"What is that, John?"

"Someday, I want to meet that man who is so firmly lodged in your heart."

…

"Walker, will you cut it out? You're shaking the whole car! We've already had enough of that kinda crap from the damn road."

She looks down at the leg she's still bouncing, wills it to stop.

"Sorry."

She looks out the passenger side window once again.

It's the first word she's uttered since they left the cabin. When an hour had passed without a word from her lips, even Casey, not the world's greatest conversationalist, had been starting to get antsy, wondering what was going on in her mind.

Sure, even he'd felt a little emotional when they'd had to say goodbye to Ed and Chase. Somehow, the two mutts had gotten to him. Walker had tried very hard, but couldn't quite hold back the tears when she'd given the both of them a parting hug along with the admonition to be good and listen to their caretaker.

But Casey knows there's more to her silence than just the memories of that emotional scene.

"Ok, Walker, spill."

She turns to him, her mask in place.

"About what?"

"Don't try and play that game with me. Something's eating at you and I need to know what it is. We're partners, remember?"

She regards him for a few seconds before replying, "I thought you hated talking about this kind of stuff."

He growls. "Well, I'm in an expansive mood, so consider this your free pass for the day. Need to know what's going through your brain if we're going to work together."

She looks out the windshield for few seconds, then quietly asks, "Do you remember what John said about Chuck not being able to really forget me?"

"Yeah."

"Ellie said basically the same thing just before we lost him."

"Yeah. So?"

She stares firmly ahead, before answering, "What if they're both wrong? What if I'm not lodged in _his_ heart at all? What if nothing clicks when he sees me? And never does?"

He glances her way. "I recall you saying you'd find a way to cope."

She shrugs, not returning his look. "I was lying. To myself as much as to you."

"Figured as much."

She doesn't reply. Just keeps staring straight ahead.

"Walker, you having second thoughts?"

She shakes her head. "No, not really. He deserves the chance to get back his life. It's just that..."

She's quiet again.

"It's just that _what_?"

She looks out her side window, her voice quiet. "I'm not sure what I'll do if there's no place in his life for me. If nothing can be done to get us back to where we were."

"Which was _what,_ exactly?"

She looks at him then. "What do you mean?"

"You make out like the two of you had the romance of the century going on, but if I had to guess, I'd say you never told him exactly how you felt about him. Am I right?"

She turns away again, quickly, but not before he sees the flush in her cheeks.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because Bartowski wouldn't have kept moping around if you'd told him. So did you or didn't you?"

A few seconds pass before he hears her quiet, "No. I didn't."

"Why the hell not?"

She's quiet once again

"Please don't say it's because spies don't have feelings, don't fall in love. I swear, if I hear that load of crap one more time, I'm gonna puke."

She gapes at him. "I guess that was a part of it, but only at the very beginning."

He shakes his head. "They teach you that bunk at the Farm?"

She nods. "Carina believes it's true."

He snorts. "Trust me, what Carina _says_ she believes and what she actually _believes_ are often two different things."

"How would you know?"

"Different story. We're talking about you and Chuck right now. So, if it wasn't that drivel, what was it?"

She looks away again, quietly replies, "Fear, Casey. You know as well as I do what it's like for people not in our line of work. They may read the books, watch the movies, think they have some idea, but they really don't understand the things that you and I have done. I was afraid that when he saw me for what I really am, not some idealistic image, he wouldn't want, maybe wouldn't even be able, to be with me. I promised myself that I wouldn't tell him how I felt until I was prepared to let him see the real Sarah Walker."

"One big problem with that line of thinking, Walker."

"Yeah, I know. The Intersect. Ellie knocked some sense into me that morning at the hotel. Helped me see that he probably knew most of it already. And despite that, he still loved me."

"Seems you underestimated him."

"Yeah. And not for the first time."

"How come you didn't figure that out on your own?"

She shrugs. "I guess it was pretty much impossible for me to accept that anyone could really care for the person portrayed so clinically in those files. Since he _did_ have feelings for me, I reasoned that he couldn't know very much about my history. Believed I still had the chance to tell him myself. Eventually. I thought that if I could do that, let him see the how and why, not just the facts, he'd be able to see the person, not just some machine. Graham's Enforcer."

He thinks about the words for a few moments, before admonishing her, "Listen, Walker. I know you care for the kid. You don't fall off the edge of the world over the loss of someone you don't have strong feelings for. But you need to move past your hang ups if you really want a life with the guy. Just getting back to the way you were before all of this won't be good enough. To get through this, he's gonna need to know exactly how you feel about him."

She nods. "I know. After my chat with Ellie, I was determined to tell him as soon as he was better. And then, of course, everything went to hell."

Shaking his head, he replies, "What is it with you two? I don't think I've ever seen two people with such lousy timing."

She snorts. "Tell me about it."

They fall into silence once more, each lost in their thoughts.

Sarah breaks it. "Casey, you know her better than I do. Why do you think she'd chance doing this? Surely, she knows how illegal it is, right? How it could backfire on her if it ever got out? At the very least, she would know that I—," he gives her a look, "— _we_ would call her on it."

"I'm sure she's well aware of everything you just said."

"Then why? Why take that risk?"

"Walker, I'm not trying to defend her, but I'm sure she did it for reasons that she thinks are good ones. The correct ones. Beckman's not power hungry like Graham was. She truly believes she's doing what's best for the country. While she might have some regrets over what she did to him, it's not enough to outweigh the advantages she feels she gains by having the Intersect even in some sort of limited form."

"About that. Do we even know Chuck has the Intersect again? Did you see any sign that he does?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing I saw would indicate he does. He didn't flash on me, although I could tell something was going through that mind of his when I walked into the diner. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe the intersect he has is different than the one we knew."

"Or maybe he doesn't have one at all. Maybe what she tried destroyed Chuck Bartowski, made whoever he believes himself to be an unsuitable host for the Intersect, and now she's trying to make up for it. Give him some sort of life up there. Pretend he died to save his friends and family from the grief of having to deal with someone who was no longer the person they loved."

A little surprised by her playing devil's advocate, he firmly replies, "Trust me. She's not that altruistic. If she'd found that he wasn't of any real use to her, she would've simply handed him back to us with apologies that the removal process had failed or perhaps wasn't performed in time. You remember how out of whack he was during those last few weeks before we took him to that hospital."

She grimaces. "I do. I think you're right. Logic would dictate that he has the damn thing in his head again."

She looks out the side window for a few seconds. "Hopefully seeing me will bring back some of his memories, maybe a lot, but chances are a great deal more will need to be done."

"Most likely."

"Ellie's a brilliant woman. She's our best shot to figure out how to get rid of both the Intersect and whatever identity they imposed on him."

"I agree. She worked with the tech geeks on the Intersect removal program. And she's got Orion's research to fall back on."

"She'll need time, though. Resources." She's thoughtful. "We'll have to go off grid until she can find a way. That'll mean bringing Devon with us. Can't give Beckman anyone she can use for leverage."

"Please don't tell me that means we have to bring the bearded troll along as well."

She smiles, wryly. "Afraid so."

"Damn. Couldn't we just shoot someone instead? Make it all go away?"

"Afraid not."

"So it's time to initiate 'Pineapple Yogurt'."

"So you do remember?"

"How could I forget? Morgan wanted his fake ID to be James T. Kirk. I said no."

A couple of years ago, when Chuck's undercover life came to the attention of the others, Chuck, Sarah and him had decided an escape plan of sorts was necessary. A way for Ellie, Devon and Morgan to quickly drop off the grid if the evildoer du jour decided to go after them. Fake identities and funds were secreted away. Each of the three were to have a go-bag ready for instant departure. Precise instructions were given as to how and where they were to go and await contact. For security reasons, only those directly involved knew of the plan. Not even Beckman was privy to their preparations. Which was good, as it turned out. Casey only hoped that they all still remembered the details. And they would cooperate.

She looks his way. "We should have cell phone coverage in few minutes. We can text them the code phrase then."

"Sounds good. They're gonna wonder what's happening, why now after all this time. You'll need to tell them something."

She gnaws on her lower lip. "I know. Just not sure what to say. Don't want to give away too much if things don't go the way we planned." She pauses. "I'll just have to ask Ellie to trust me on this. Think she'll be OK with that?"

He nods. "She knows you don't act foolishly or needlessly. Besides, she'll be happy to hear from you."

"Good. You have your phone? Battery's dead in mine."

He digs it out of his jacket pocket and, after using his fingerprint to unlock it, hands it over.

"You remember the number?"

She nods, her head down, looking at the screen. Seeing they have a signal, she starts to type, pausing once or twice as she figures out what to say. A minute or so later, she stops, but keeps the phone in her hand, glancing at it, awaiting a reply.

It's only a few minutes before there's the ding of an incoming text. He glances her way as she eagerly reads the message, swears he sees a tear before she turns to brush it away.

She sounds a little choked as she answers his unspoken inquiry. "Ellie says they're good. Just so happens they were at their apartment having brunch with Morgan. They're putting it all in action even as we speak."

There's obviously more to the message than just that, but he doesn't push her.

"Good. Now we can concentrate on what we're gonna do when we get up there."

Since the road has smoothed out, he's able to take his eyes off it for a moment or two. He looks her up and down. "You know, if you really want to jog his memory, you might want to move on from the whole lumberjack slash hermit look you've got going there. Don't want to make it more difficult than it might already be."

She nods. "I thought of that. That's why we need to stop in Denver. Got some clothes stashed there. Get my hair cut and…some other stuff done too."

He doesn't ask about the other stuff. He has a vague idea that some of it might entail and doesn't really care to know.

"You might want to wear the blue top. The one with the little buttons. Chuck liked that one. If you still have it, that is."

She looks a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I hung on to it."

He changes the subject. "Given our time frame here, I suggest you make the first approach at that diner I told you about. Tomorrow morning. Should be safe enough. Never saw any signs they were watching him, but I'll have your back just in case."

She nods. "Assuming there's no trouble, we'll go from there to his place, get the basics and take off."

"Sounds like a plan."

By tacit agreement, neither bring up the fate of the instigator of this whole drama.

One mission at a time.

…

Chuck absently recently reaches for his coffee, engrossed in the schematic displayed on the screen of his tablet. Only when he brings the mug to his lips does he realize it's empty.

He looks around a little helplessly, sees the tall blonde already on her way, coffee pot in her hand.

Holding out the mug, he lets her refill it.

"Thank you, Sandra. You're a godsend. And a mind reader."

She chuckles, grinning at him. "Just years of experience, Chuck." She nods toward his tablet. "What are you working on there?"

He looks down to his tablet, points out something on the screen and replies excitedly, "Last night, something popped into my head. I think I may have found a way to increase our broadband speed and at the same time make our service more affordable. It's a matter of taking the incoming signal and…"

She smiles tolerantly as he goes on and on, losing her in the first few sentences.

Finally, he looks up, realizes what he's done. Grinning sheepishly, he finishes, a little lamely, "Anyway, it'll be better for our customers. Especially for the ones who find the service a little too expensive."

She pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. "I'm sure it will, Chuck. It's nice that you're looking out for the little guy."

He flushes a bit. "Thanks, Sandra."

"Welcome. You want me to order your food now?"

"Sure. Thanks."

He puts his head back down, once again absorbed in the problem, blanking out the distractions of the busy diner that surround him.

Just as Sandra replaces the coffee pot on it's warmer, the bell over the front door tinkles. She turns to greet the new customer, opens her mouth, but stops before any words escape. Instead, she finds herself staring at the woman standing at the entrance.

She's tall, dressed in jeans, blue top and a short, belted brown leather jacket. Blonde hair in soft curls down to her shoulders. Beautiful.

Without understanding exactly why she's so certain, Sandra knows that this person, whoever she is, is the _one_. The piece of his life that, without him even being aware of it, Chuck's been missing all these months. And it's quite clear, from the way she's looking at him, that she regards him in the same light.

As Sandra walks toward her, the stranger continues to gaze at Chuck, her fond little smile not quite masking what Sandra thinks to be anxiety. He, on the other hand, fifteen feet away with his back to the door, continues to be oblivious, his eyes fixed on the tablet in his hands.

Sandra stops a couple of feet away from the newcomer. Sees the woman look at her and then glance over to where her tall, curly-haired husband is talking, laughing with a couple at one of the tables.

Sandra watches as the she nods, hears her softly say, almost as if speaking to herself, "I understand now."

The two regard each other for a moment. Then Sandra declares, almost whispering, "You're her."

The woman momentarily shifts her eyes back to him, then quietly, hesitatingly replies, "I hope so."

Sandra shakes her head. "Don't worry. He's been waiting for you for as long as I've known him."

The woman nods, thoughtfully, then says, "Thank you, Sandra. My name is Sarah.

"Hi, Sarah. Do you know me?"

"I know of you. A friend told me about the two of you and how you've been taking care of him." Sarah pauses. "I'm not sure I have the words to help you understand how much that means to me, how grateful I am."

"Never was a problem, Sarah. But now it's time for you to take over. Go to him."

The woman smiles, a full blown one, and Sandra swears that the morning sunlight streaming through the front window pales in comparison.

Chuck is only dimly aware of someone near his table, is surprised when the person sits down across the table from him without asking. He's a little annoyed the person would take such liberties, so has a small scowl on his face as brings his head up, prepared to...

Blue eyes so captivating, so stunning that, for what seems like an eternity, he's incapable of seeing anything else.

Until he notices the brilliant, glorious smile.

He drops his tablet, clattering onto the table. At the noise, other patrons look his way, but, to him, they might as well not exist.

She places an old flip phone on the table in front of him. "Hi, I'm having trouble with my phone. Can you help me?"

He glances at it.

Then back to her.

An avalanche of images.

A deluge of emotions.

A name trying to fight its way to the surface of his mind.

He closes his eyes, struggling, desperate to recall it, to hear it on his lips once more.

 _There it is._

He opens his eyes.

Looks into hers.

"Sarah."

She's blinking back sudden tears.

"Hi, Chuck."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Cruel, I know. I'll do my best to have the next chapter out sooner rather than later. Thanks for all your reviews and kind thoughts._


	6. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Five

A/N: A meeting of minds, hearts and lips. Charah, in other words.

Thanks to michaelfmx my patient and hard working beta. Any errors are my responsibility.

Don't own Chuck, et al

Enjoy!

—-

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 5

 _He opens his eyes._

 _Looks into hers._

" _Sarah."_

 _She's blinking back sudden tears._

" _Hi, Chuck."_

...

Sarah, through her tears, sees him struggling, trying to put the pieces together.

She desperately wants to throw herself into his arms, kiss him senseless. Flood him with memories of their time together. (Memories that, until yesterday, had been pushed away, consigned to the scrap heap of her unrealized dreams.) To frantically do whatever it takes to compel him to remember her.

But in her heart, she knows how vitally important it is for him to try and find, at least to the degree possible, his own way through this. To discover his own memories, his own emotions. Authentic ones, not what someone _tells_ him he should remember, _tells_ him he should feel.

So she bites her tongue, and waits on him. And as the seemingly interminable seconds continue to tick by, she finds her hands gripping the sides of the tables so hard that her knuckles turn white.

 _Please, Chuck. Please._

"You're very important to me, aren't you?"

As her heart soars, she releases the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Trying to damp down her excitement, she clasps her hands together on the table, answers by asking, "Why do you think that?"

"Besides this feeling in my heart, you mean?"

She nods. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

He gestures with his head. "You see the two of them over there, trying very hard not to look our way?"

Sarah glances in the direction of the kitchen, does indeed see Sandra and Clark failing miserably in their attempts to pretend they're uninterested in what is happening at the front of their diner.

"Yes, I do."

"Well, when you sat down across from me, it finally clicked why I like coming here, aside from the good food, that is."

She's thoughtful. "You see them as us, right?"

"Yes, in some ways. Not running a diner, of course, but happy. Together. I just now realized that's something I want." He gives her a crooked little grin. "And it seems I want it with you."

 _Me too, Chuck. Me too._

He looks back at the couple for few more seconds, then, turning back to Sarah, asks shyly, "I'm very much in love with you, aren't I?"

At first, she has no idea how to respond to that without sounding incredibly self-assuming, but then the answer comes to her. "You've told me that you were."

He looks at her again, his eyes searching her face for a long few seconds. Then he speaks softly, almost as if he's thinking out loud. "Yes. Yes, I can believe that. I would find it easy to _fall_ in love with you. But, somehow, I have the feeling that it wasn't always easy to _be_ in love with you."

Sarah can't stop the blush rising to her cheeks. She shakes her head. "No, Chuck. It wasn't. I brought a lot of baggage with me."

He looks puzzled for a moment, as if the conversation is stirring some sort of memory, one he's unable to track down. Instead of pursuing it, however, he goes on, sounding even more diffident than he had just a few moments before.

"I don't want to put you on the spot, and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. It's just that I really need to know something before I stick my foot in my mouth and say something that'll embarrass me and probably you as well. But I really need to—" He stops himself abruptly, his head down.

She reaches across the table, places her hand gently on his.

She asks, quietly, "What is it, Chuck?"

He looks down at her hand on his for a moment, then raises his head, brings his eyes to hers, his look penetrating. He takes a deep breath.

Then, with an odd mixture of hope and pessimism in his voice, he asks, "Sarah, are _you_ in love with _me_?"

She looks away, too ashamed to hold his gaze.

In the past, there were times, far too many, when she'd taken his feelings for granted, confident of his love, even during those occasions when she'd behaved so badly, so inconsistently. Part of her had always assumed (smugly, in retrospect,) that, when the day came, the one where she finally got past her inhibitions and was ready for them, he'd be there, waiting.

Until that night, of course, when he wasn't. And she'd been forced to realize that there isn't always a tomorrow.

Of all the painful self-recriminations she'd heaped on herself during the months that followed, this one had perhaps been the most difficult to cope with. As the days and weeks had passed, she'd come to be bitterly shamed by her presumptuousness. Had eventually come to the conclusion that even if things hadn't gone as they had, he likely would've, at some juncture, quite justifiably, reached the point of emotional exhaustion and given up on her, simply too tired to wait any longer.

And even though she hadn't had any evidence to support it, she'd also tormented herself with the thought that maybe if she'd been more forthcoming, he wouldn't have had his breakdown in the first place. That her prolonged hesitancy had been the proverbial last straw.

Now she, no, both of them, are facing the consequences of her reticence, her vacillation. If only, just once, she'd thrown caution to the winds, taken him aside and opened up her heart, he mightn't have needed to wonder where he stood. Part of him, she firmly believes, even under the weight of all that had been dumped on him, would simply know.

 _Screw your courage to the sticking place._

When Sarah first read of Lady Macbeth, she'd immediately felt a strong connection with the character and her tortured inability to clean the figurative blood from her hands. So she's not surprised that one of that ruthless woman's utterances pops into her head.

She'd often wondered about the exact meaning, but the gist of it had always been clear enough.

With those words, and Casey's recent admonition ringing in her ears, she looks at him once more, sees his face start to fall at, what must be to him, a long, unnerving silence.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I had no right to ask that question. Can you forgive—"

She gently cuts him off, squeezes his hand. "Stop, Chuck. You have every right to ask."

 _It's time, Sarah. He needs to know._

 _Now._

She takes a deep breath. "Yes."

He seems unable to process her softly spoken, yet terse reply, appears a little bewildered.

"What?"

She nods. "Yes, Chuck. The answer is yes."

Crazily, she wonders if it's somehow possible for a person's whole body to smile. Because that's what she thinks she's seeing from him right now.

"Really?"

She grins, toothily, in turn. "Really."

But then she sees a cloud pass across his face and he frowns a little. "Sarah, I'm so sorry I don't remember you telling me that before. To forget life-changing stuff like is inexcusable, no matter what's been done to me. God, I'm such an idiot. Can you forgive me?"

"Chuck, stop! You're not to blame."

"No, that's something that I should—"

"Stop! I'm the one to blame, not you."

"What?"

"I'm the one who should be sorry, not you."

"I don't understand."

"Chuck, there's no way you could remember, because..."

Shame stops her tongue.

"Because what, Sarah?"

She hesitates.

"Because I never told you."

Sarah watches him as he mulls over the meaning of her confession, almost certain he'll come to the wrong conclusion.

His next words confirm her supposition. "I'm confused. You love me now, but you didn't before? Were we just friends back then?"

"No, Chuck. We were never _just_ friends. Right from the start, part of me knew I could love you. And it didn't take any time at all, not really, before I did."

"But you didn't tell me. Why?"

"Chuck, my reasons weren't very sensible ones, but I need you to trust me when I tell that they'll make even less sense if I lay them out for you right now. Later, I'll sit down and tell you everything."

She squeezes his hand, looks into his eyes. "But for now, just know that I love you, have loved you for a very long time. I've never felt this way about anyone else. Not even close."

"For how long, Sarah?"

She hesitates again, knowing how much the truth will hurt him. "Almost three years, Chuck."

He's bewildered. Shocked. "Three years! I've lost three years of being with you?"

She nods, blinking back tears once more. "Yes. I'm so sorry." She doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's lost so much more than that. He'll realize that soon enough.

But right now, she needs to step up, before his spirits sink even further.

 _This is what you signed up for, girl._

She captures his eyes with hers, firmly declares, "Chuck, I can't make you any promises about those lost years. But I can promise you this. I'll stay at your side as long as you'll have me. And as long as I'm alive, no one will _ever_ take you from me again. No one, Chuck."

He looks closely at her for what seems like a very long moment. "Because you love me."

"More than life itself."

Over and ever, the Bartowski children have demonstrated their resiliency, so Sarah's not overly surprised when he nods, determination in both voice and body language. "OK. Good. That's enough for now."

But then he looks at her, suddenly seems a little shy. "Sarah, I'd really, really like to kiss you right now, but I get the feeling I'm a little timid about PDA."

She smiles. "You are. But maybe a little one wouldn't make you feel too uncomfortable."

He shrugs. "Only one way to find out."

He leans forward, across the table. She does the same, meets him halfway.

As their lips gently meet, Sarah swears she hears a choking sob from somewhere near the back of the restaurant, but doesn't turn to look. Instead, she concentrates on the feel of his kiss, how familiar it is even after all the time that has passed. How it's warmth makes it's way down into her heart, pushing out that cold emptiness which had filled it for what had seemed like an eternity.

As she feels the tears running down her cheeks, certain they're meshing with his, she raises her hand, places it gently on the back of his head, pulls him a little closer, kisses him a little more urgently, feels his response.

And at that moment, she knows that, somehow, together, they'll find their way.

They break apart only after the smattering of applause and gentle laughs finally penetrate their little bubble.

Their foreheads touching, she gently asks, "Too much?"

He softly chuckles. "No, perfectly comfortable on my end."

"Me too."

He leans back, just a bit, taking her hand as he does so.

Their heads still close, he quietly asks, looking into her eyes, "So, now that we've gotten the most important issue out of the way, what's the next part of your plan? You are here to rescue me, right?"

She's somewhat nonplussed by this sudden change in subject, her mind still on the kiss, so is a little slow on the uptake. "Excuse me?"

"There's clearly some sort of problem with me, Sarah. Someone, or something, has seriously messed with my mind. If it were otherwise, I would've remembered you, us, the moment I saw you."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

He chuckles. "Sarah, have you taken a look at yourself? It would be nigh on impossible for a man with a fully functional brain to forget you. Even if he didn't have the history that you and I clearly have."

She feels the heat in her cheeks, but tries to ignore it,

"You're right, Chuck. Something happened about a year ago."

He nods. "Makes sense. That's about how long I've been here. Was it an accident? Sickness?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"OK. Deliberate then." He pauses. "I need to ask you a question. Does the name Ilana Truffaut mean anything to you?"

She's puzzled once more by this sudden veer in their conversation. And worried about how much he knows of that operation.

She replies, "Yes. That was an identity I used on a mission in France." She doesn't elaborate.

He looks at her, nods, doesn't expand upon the matter either. "OK. It was Beckman than."

"What?!"

"Beckman's behind whatever's been done to me."

"That's what we concluded, but how did you figure it out based on that?"

"We?"

"John Casey and me."

"Big guy? Uses a lot of grunts when he talks?"

She smiles. "Yes. He's the one who found you up here. My partner." She pauses. "Our partner. Our friend."

"I thought there was something about him." He smiles at her. "Clearly, he doesn't mean nearly as much to me as the stunningly beautiful woman sitting at my table does. Otherwise, I would've remembered him."

She blushes again, then tries to get the conversation back on track. "You'll need to tell me why you're so sure it's her, but this isn't the time and place." She gestures with her head. "Casey's waiting for us across the street. We need to get what you need from your place and get out of town. Quickly."

"OK."

She's surprised. "No questions? No wondering where we're going to go?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. It's painfully obvious that there's a ton of stuff I don't know, but I do know this. I love you. And I do know that I couldn't love someone I don't trust. Ergo, I must trust you. The rest is just details."

She's warmed by his faith in her. "Thank you, Chuck."

"You're welcome." He stands, picks up his tablet with one hand and offers the other to her. "Please come with me. I need to say goodbye to Sandra and Clark."

She takes his hand, rises from her chair. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"They're my friends, Sarah. I can't just leave them in the lurch. But I'll be careful. Trust me."

She looks into his eyes. "OK."

He leads her to the back, clearly familiar with the layout of the place. As they enter the kitchen, they see the Sandra and Clark doing their best to appear busy, as if they have no interest in the two people standing in the doorway.

Chuck says, "Clark, Sandra." They turn to him. "Guys, this is Sarah. A year ago, something happened and we lost each other. But now we're back together."

He pauses, looks into Sarah's eyes. "She's the love of my life."

Sandra nods, tears running freely down her cheeks. "I knew it, Chuck. As soon as I saw her, I knew it."

Before anyone can move, she closes the distance, enwraps Sarah in an almost bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you, Sarah. For finding him. For coming back to him. For loving him"

Sarah, caught off guard by the woman's effusiveness, returns the hug, a little awkwardly at first, but, sensing the sincerity in it, returns it fully.

"Thank you, Sandra. You and Clark mean a lot to him. I just want to say again how grateful I am that you two were here to take care of Chuck."

The older woman releases the agent from her grasp. Steps back and gives both of them long look.

"You've come to say goodbye, haven't you?"

Chuck replies, a little sadly, "Yes, Sandra. For now. There are matters that have to be dealt with. Some things that've been done that need to be undone. But I promise that when they are, Sarah," he looks her way and she nods, "and I will come back and visit the both of you."

Clark replies, smiling, "That's a promise that you'd better keep."

"I'll make sure of it," Sarah responds, eagerly.

While Clark gives Sarah a hug, Chuck steps forward to do the same for Sandra.

Quietly, he says, "Thank you, Sandra. I'm not sure I would've made it up here without you two taking care of me."

She whispers into his ear, "You're welcome. She's been hurting. She needs you just as much as you need her. Maybe even more. Take care of her, Chuck."

He nods. "I will."

They break apart.

Chuck takes Sarah's hand, then says, sounding very serious, "Sandra. Clark. It's possible that someone may come and ask you some questions about what happened to me. Don't be anxious. Simply tell them the honest truth." He grins, a little cheekily, glances at Sarah. "Just say that the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world, a woman named Sarah, came and took me away."

Embarrassed, she smacks him in the shoulder. "Chuck, stop it."

He just continues to grin. "And you don't know exactly where and why, because I'm not going to tell you. All you know for sure is that the two of them were crazy in love. You can do that?"

Clark dryly replies, "I think we can manage it."

A few moments later, after an emotional round of goodbyes, Sandra and Clark watch the two of them, hand in hand, leave through the front door.

Clark looks after them, thoughtful. "Sandra, I don't know what it is, but there's something about them that seems familiar."

Sandra, brushing away her tears, just shakes her head and mutters, fondly, "Idiot."

…

Walking across the road, heading towards the large, black vehicle parked there, Chuck tenses up, enough that Sarah, holding his hand, feels it.

She looks at him, anxious. "What is it, Chuck?"

"Sarah, is Casey the kind of guy to hold a grudge?"

"He's been known to. Why?"

"I somehow just got the thought that I may have been responsible for blowing up his car. One he really liked. Am I right?"

"Yes, you are. But I think he's over it by now. He likes the one he has now just as much."

"Should I apologize?"

"I believe it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Gotcha."

As they approach, the driver's door open and Casey steps out.

Sarah asks, "Anything?"

He shakes his head. "No. I think we're clear."

"Good. We'll head to Chuck's place and grab the essentials then."

Chuck steps forward and, a little cautiously, offers his hand. "Thank you for finding me, John. Or do I usually call you Casey? I'm not sure."

Shaking Chuck's hand, the big man grunts. "Casey's fine."

"Then, thank you, _Casey_. Thank you for bringing Sarah back to me."

The man looks embarrassed, appears to try and cover it with a gruff, "I'm not your matchmaker, moron."

Chuck opens his mouth to reply, but abruptly pauses, feels like a light has suddenly come on.

She notices his expression. "Chuck, what is it?"

"Sarah, my last name's Bartowski, isn't it?"

She nods, happily. "Yes, Chuck. It is. But how did…"

He grins back. "It just clicked after I got the distinct impression that moron and Bartowski are synonymous in Casey's book."

He looks to the man beside him. "Am I right, big guy?"

"Yeah, but maybe not quite as true as it used to be."

"Aw, thanks. That's the kindest thing you've ever said to me. At least anything that I can remember you saying."

"Don't push it."

Sarah chuckles quietly. "OK, boys. We should get going. Casey, you know the way?"

He nods, a little grumpily. "Yeah, I know the way."

He gets back behind the wheel, while Chuck joins her in the back seat.

"Sarah, there's a GPS in my watch. I'll need to give them a reason for my location, just in case they check. I'll call in sick, tell them I'll be at home, sleeping. They shouldn't be concerned until I don't show up tomorrow. That'll give us the head start we need to get clear."

"Good idea."

He slips the phone out of his pocket. "Give me a minute." Bringing it to his ear, he presses a button and softly says, "Call work."

After a few seconds, he says, sounding dragged out. "Hi, Gillian," he feels Sarah tense beside him, but pushes it aside, concentrates on the call, "I'm gonna have to take the day off."

There's a pause as he listens to her response. "No, it's not serious. Just a cold, but thanks for your concern. I'll just take some cold medicine and try and sleep it off. Hopefully, I'll be in tomorrow."

Another pause. "No, I've got everything I need. No, Gillian. There's no need for you to come over, but thank you anyway.

Pause. "No. I'm sure. I'll call tomorrow. Bye."

He disconnects and slips the phone back into his pocket.

"OK, Casey. We're good."

Casey starts the engine and pulls the car out into the street.

"Is she always that pushy?"

He turns to Sarah, surprised by her words. He sees the look in her eyes and suddenly the temperature in the car drops, almost as if someone has just turned on the air conditioning.

"What?"

"You heard me. It didn't seem like Gillian was willing to take no for an answer."

"She's just being friendly."

"I'm sure she is."

He didn't realize it was possible to inject such venom into four little words.

He's trying to come up with something to say when she speaks again.

"Has she ever been to your place?"

"Yeah, a few times."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" The temperature seems to drop a bit more, but oddly enough Chuck starts to feel a little warm.

Finally, he realizes what's going on. He has the feeling that this isn't the first time Sarah's been jealous. Unbidden, an image comes up into his mind. A sandwich shop? A short brown-haired woman? Try as he might, nothing else comes to mind, no name, no circumstances. But he knows that the woman sitting next to him wasn't that fond of this mystery woman.

He's momentarily tempted to tease Sarah, but quickly thinks better of it. Realizes how unkind it would be, especially this early in their new beginning.

"Sarah, never by herself. She only came over as part of a group. I had the whole crew over for dinner two or three times. Appreciation for all their hard work."

He sees her relax and give him a slightly chagrined look. "OK." She reaches over, takes his hand once more. "Sorry."

He knows it's a little selfish on his part, but he can't help but be a little flattered that someone like Sarah Walker could be jealous over him.

 _Wait._

"Sarah! I just remembered your last name. It's Walker."

She smiles. "Good, Chuck."

He rolls the name around on his tongue for a bit. "Sarah _Walker_. _Sarah_ Walker. I like it."

Her words are dry, but he sees her little smile. "I'm happy for you."

"You know what might have been cooler? Sarah Sky—"

"Don't say it, Chuck. We already had that discussion. As a CIA agent, it would have attracted too much attention."

"Oh."

Casey pulls the Crown Vic over to the curb, announces, "We're here. Let's get your stuff and get the hell out of Dodge."

...

Gillian hangs up the phone, a little puzzled. When she'd driven by Clandra's on her way to work, she'd seen Chuck in his usual spot in the front window. He'd looked OK, seemed engrossed in something on his tablet, so she wonders how things could've changed so quickly. However, he's never shown any signs of being a malingerer, so decides to take his word for it.

Besides, this might be the opportunity she's been waiting for. For a moment or two, she visualizes sitting at his bedside. He's feverish, but she's kindly and gently holding a cold cloth against his forehead. She nurses him back to health, and then he expresses his gratitude, his feelings for her that he's been holding in for so long.

Chuckling at herself, she shakes off the juvenile fantasy. There is, however, that deli down the street with the great chicken soup. Even though he'd told her that he didn't need anything, she decides to take some over.

Maybe, if he's not too sick, they'll have a chance to talk. Maybe she can find out why he keeps ignoring all the signals she's throwing out.

She takes off her watch, puts it in the drawer. No need for anyone to know where she's going.

For a few seconds, she looks, irresolutely, at the Glock in the drawer, then slips it into her purse. It is SOP after all.

And, of course, there's that other daydream where she single-handedly saves him from being kidnapped by some sort of enemy super spy. Probably would need her sidearm for that.

She snorts. As if any super spy would ever have reason to come to Casper.

...

She parks her car across the street from Chuck's condo. After picking up the white plastic bag with the soup, she walks toward his place, rehearsing in her mind what she's going to say to him, especially after he was so firm about not needing anything.

She's halfway across the street when her eyes catch the flash of a man passing by the window on the second floor. Chuck's bedroom window. She can't be absolutely certain, but she thinks the man was heavyset, older.

Not Chuck.

She feels a little tingle in her spine.

 _Something's not right here._

She looks around more carefully, notices the large, black car parked in front. Out of state plates.

Another tingle.

She quickly closes the remaining distance to his door. Tentatively, she turns the handle, is surprised to find it unlocked.

Tingle.

She quickly removes her high heels, places them to one side along with the soup. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out her pistol and, racking the slide, chambers a round.

Slowly, she turns the door handle, opens the door, quickly steps inside, sees the entranceway is clear. Closing the door quietly behind her, she softly pads on the balls of her feet toward the stairway.

She hears Chuck's voice from upstairs, and, although she can't make out the words, he sounds a little stressed.

She tests the first stair, making sure it doesn't creak, then slowly, carefully, repeats the procedure as she makes her way to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, she turns to the right, towards his slightly ajar bedroom door. (She blushes momentarily as she remembers that she only knows it's his bedroom is that, during one of his staff parties and after using the upstairs bathroom, she'd briefly, curiously, stuck her head in.)

The voices from within are clearer now and she hears an unfamiliar, deep one gruffly say, "Bartowski, I don't care what you say. We're not taking your damn comic book collection with us."

 _Comic books? And who the hell is Bartowski?_

She reaches the door. With her Glock held out in front of her, finger outside the trigger guard, she takes a deep breath, then uses her free hand to quickly push open the door, stepping into the room.

Gillian knows she doesn't have the most commanding of voices, so puts everything she has into her order.

"FREEZE! NOBODY MOVE!"

She inwardly cringes at the redundancy, nonetheless, the three people in the room, all with their backs to her, do obey. She quickly takes stock of the situation. Sees Chuck and a tall blonde woman standing on opposite sides of the bed, a packed suitcase between them. A few feet away, to her left, is the man she saw pass by the window earlier, another suitcase in his hand.

"EVERYBODY TURN AROUND. SLOWLY."

They do so. Immediately, Gillian recognizes the big man. Major John Casey. She'd seen him often enough around Fort Meade. Heard of his reputation. Old school. A killer.

The blonde, however, is a stranger to her.

She moves her eyes, for just an instant, from the woman to Chuck, sees that he appears to be OK.

When she looks back, she's staring down the barrel of a chrome automatic, the sight of which is not nearly as terrifying as the two cold, blue eyes boring into her from behind it.

 _How the hell…_

Both the Major and Chuck speak up simultaneously. Urgently.

"Walker, she's one of ours…"

"Sarah, that's Gillian. Don't…

 _Wait. Sarah? Sarah Walker?_

 _Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!_

If only a tenth of what they say about this CIA ghost is true, Gillian knows she'll be dead in less than a heartbeat if she so much as twitches the wrong way.

As hard as she tries, she can't stop the sudden tremor in her gun hand. But, somehow, still unsure if Chuck is safe, she finds the courage she needs in order to not back down, mustering it up from some place deep within her.

Without taking her eyes off the blonde agent, (she won't make that mistake again) she asks, "Chuck, are you OK?"

"Yes, Gillian, I'm fine."

"Then tell me what the hell's going on here."

"Gillian, these people have come here to help me."

"Chuck, do you have any idea who these two are? Major Casey is a stone cold killer. An assassin. I know of him from the NSA. But, if the rumors are true, the woman pointing the gun at me makes him almost look like a saint in comparison. Why would you trust people like these?"

"They're my friends, Gillian."

She derisively replies, "Friends, Chuck? That isn't possible. You can't be friends with their sort. They're just soulless, heartless machines. Weapons."

She sees something flash in the eyes of the woman facing her, but has no idea what it signifies.

Gillian hears what sounds like restrained anger in Chuck's voice. "You're wrong. In my heart, I know them. They're more than what the gossip and rumors say. Much more."

"What? How?"

"I can't go into it now, but in brief, my memory has been…altered. Because of that, I don't remember everything about them, but there's this…this certainty I feel. It's hard to explain, but I know both of them without knowing much about them. I'm sorry if that sounds weird, but it's the only way I can express it."

"Sounds like some sort of mystical mumbo-jumbo to me."

"I know. But it's the truth."

She shakes her head. "You sure these two haven't somehow implanted that idea in your head?"

There's a pause before he answers, rather cryptically, "No, Gillian. Not them."

He pauses again. "There's another reason I'm so sure."

"Which is?"

"I'm totally, completely head over heels in love with Sarah."

Gillian sees the blonde agent's eyes soften for an instant before they resume their icy stare down the barrel of her gun.

"You can't be serious. You mean to tell me that you think you're in love with this…this monster?"

Gillian swallows nervously as she hears the rumble of an actual growl from the woman facing her.

 _Maybe I've gone a little too far._

Chuck's voice is firm, cold. "Gillian, that's the last time I'll l tolerate you speaking of Sarah like that."

"But—"

He cuts her off, his tone harsher than she's ever heard from him before.

"Last. Time. You got that?"

She flinches, nods, cowed by his fury.

"Gillian, you need to stop and think. You know what kind of person I am. So ask yourself, could I love Sarah if she was simply and solely what you believe her to be?"

After a moment's thought, she shakes her head. "No, you couldn't. I see your point.'

"Good. Now, I want you to put your weapon down. Slowly. There's no reason for anyone to get hurt here."

She hesitates.

"Now, please, Gillian."

Letting the Glock dangle from her finger, she crouches down, places the pistol on the floor, then stands.

The tension in the room, thick until this moment, abruptly lessens.

"Good. Now kick it over to Casey."

She does so, watches as he bends down to pick it up. Then he quickly removes the magazine and ejects the round in the chamber before placing the now harmless weapon on top of the chest of drawers.

For the first time, the woman speaks, "Casey, cover me while I search her." She tucks her pistol into the belt at her back.

Gillian's about to protest that she doesn't have any other weapons, but upon seeing the uncompromising fierceness in the agent's eyes, stays quiet.

After a quick, but thorough pat down and search of her purse, Sarah steps back, says, "OK. She's clean."

Chuck says, "Good. Gillian, please sit down. We'll need to figure out how we're going to handle this. You promise to behave yourself?"

She nods, watches Chuck as he walks over and takes Sarah's hand, leans in and quietly asks if she's OK. In that instant, Gillian sees an astonishing transformation. The woman nods, then leans in against his shoulder, her whole body somehow softening as she molds herself against his side. Her eyes, so deadly, coldly blue mere moments ago, warm, the color seeming to change in a split second as she looks up into his face and smiles, her whole demeanour changing.

Her love for the man beside her is so conspicuous, that Gillian, as much as she would like to, can't possibly deny it. And when she sees the same look on his face, she knows beyond a doubt that any slim hopes she'd ever entertained about him have now been dashed to pieces.

Sadly, she asks, "I never had a chance, did I, Chuck?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't know exactly why until today, but, no, you never did. I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "No need for you to apologize. You never led me on."

"Still, I feel bad. You're a genuinely beautiful person. You deserve to find someone who loves you. Completely. Wholly. Even if Sarah hadn't ever found me, it never would've been me. I would've always been waiting for that missing piece to show up."

She sighs. "Maybe the guy who takes your job will be as nice as you. Although, I don't believe lightning like that strikes twice."

Sarah speaks up, still looking up into Chuck's eyes. Softly smiles. "No, you're right. I don't believe it does either."

Watching them, Gillian hopes that one day, even just once, she's on the receiving end of the kind of look Chuck gives to the woman at his side.

Casey's rough voice breaks the mood. "Hey, lovebirds. Break it up. We haven't got all day. We need to get our asses in gear here."

Both Chuck and Sarah seem to give themselves a little shake. Chuck drops Sarah's hand. Backs up a foot or so. She smoothes down her shirt. Assumes a neutral look.

"Right, Casey." Chuck looks toward the suitcase on the bed. "I think we're about done here. And I'll leave the comic books behind."

Gillian jumps in. "You're Bartowski?"

Chuck turns to her, an inquiring look on his face.

"Heard it when I was outside the door."

He nods.

"So McNeil was a cover?"

"Yes. A cover for a cover. Until today I thought Carmichael was my real name." He shrugs. "I was wrong. I'm not who I thought I was."

Sympathetically, she asks, "What did they do to you, Chuck?"

"Well, that's what we're going to find out. And how to deal with it. We haven't had the chance to discuss the details yet, but that's why Casey and Sarah have come here.

"To save me. Something my gut tells me isn't the first time."

Casey grunts. "You've got that right."

Gillian catches the look Chuck directs the man's way. Senses the affection in it.

Walking over to the bed, Chuck closes the suitcase, picks it up and puts it on the floor.

"OK, we can go."

He walks over, stops in front of Gillian. "So, what we do with you?"

Gillian's certain she hears a small measure of malice in Sarah's voice. "We could tie her up. Nice and tight."

Chuck just gently shakes his head, smiling a little. "No, I don't think that's necessary. But I do feel we'll have to tranq you. A couple of doses. Just to give us enough time to make sure we're clear. That OK with you, Gillian?"

She shrugs. "Better than being tied up, I guess."

Casey hands him the tranq pistol. "OK. Please make yourself comfortable on the bed."

She removes her suit jacket, drapes it and her purse over the chair, then lies down.

She looks up at him, smirks. "You know, Chuck, this isn't exactly how I pictured winding up in your bed."

She sees his blush, catches Sarah's scowl out of the corner of her eye as the shot hits home.

 _Take that, blondie._

Sarah walks over to the bed, eagerly takes the pistol from Chuck's hand.

"Here, let me do that."

She stares down at Gillian, looking, to the brunette, like a hawk ready to pounce on its prey.

"After you wake from your beauty sleep, which I think you could really use, please feel free to tell her that Sarah Walker and John Casey were here. And that we're not done with her yet.

"Her? Which her?"

"You'll find out. In time. Goodbye, Gillian.'

"Oh, and by the way, this might hurt a little." There's a wicked gleam in the agent's eyes. "That is, assuming I do it right." She raises the pistol, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Gillian feels the painful sting on the tranq dart, then another. Has time for one last thought before drifting off.

 _Damn blondes always keep getting in my way._

 _..._

Casper is fifty miles behind them, when Sarah, snuggled close to him in the back seat of the Crown Vic, gently asks, "Chuck, please tell me what happened to you. How you know it was Beckman."

 **TBC**

—A/N: Next chapter Ellie, Awesome and the bearded one make their appearance. Thanks for reading along. Always appreciate reviews. Until next chapter.


	7. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Six

_A/N: On the road again. Explanations are made. Feelings are expressed._

 _And there's sorrow. There's a scene in this chapter that may upset some of you. One that I hope you'll find has been handled with dignity and sensitivity._

 _Continued thanks to michaelfmx, my stalwart beta. As always, any errors that remain are the responsibility of the writer._

 _Remember, my stories are always more canonish rather than canon. And more talk than action._

 _Just saying that so you know what you're getting into here. (Although, I suppose if you've gotten this far, you've already figured that out.)_

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy! (I hope)_

—

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 6

 _Casper is fifty miles behind them, when Sarah, snuggled close to him in the back seat of the Crown Vic, gently asks, "Chuck, please tell me what happened to you. How you know it was Beckman."_

…

He's just about to open his mouth to answer, when Sarah jumps in. "Sorry, almost forgot something." She looks toward the front seat. "Time for the earplugs, Casey."

"Roger that." Using one hand, he takes a few seconds to fit them in, then says, "OK, we're good."

Chuck looks her way, surprised. "You're forcing him to wear earplugs?"

She chuckles. "Trust me. It was his idea. Said he might drive the car off a cliff if he was overly nauseated by all the stuff he might hear from the back seat." She smiles toward the back of Casey's head. "The truth is that we have a long car ride ahead of us and he wants to give us some privacy while we catch up, but just doesn't want to admit being that considerate."

Chuck shakes his head. "Is he always like that?"

"Seemed that way when we first met, but he mellowed over the time we worked together. He's a good friend, a kind man behind that gruff exterior. Just doesn't like to let on about it."

He gives the man a glance. "Yeah, I kinda got that from the matchmaker comment."

He turns his head and looks down into her eyes, quietly says, "So, you're wondering about the Ilana Truffaut thing, I guess."

"Yes. I'm not sure of the connection between that and your certainty that Beckman was behind all of this."

"Well, number one, she was there when I downloaded the Intersect."

"So you do have it. We weren't totally sure."

"Yes I do, although she informed me that I was the one who created it, something I now know isn't true."

She gapes at him. "Excuse me. She told you that _you_ were the brains behind the whole Intersect project?"

He grins. "At another time, I might take offense at your lack faith in my abilities, but, yes, that's what I was told after I woke up from some sort of coma. According to her, I'd overworked myself trying to make the damn thing functional."

"That lying b…" Sarah shakes her head. "Sorry, that's a discussion for another time. Go on."

He obliges her. "Since I've been in Casper, Beckman's been sending me a regular stream of data, almost anything that was deemed intelligence worthy. If I flash on it, I send the information back to her. And before you ask, it's all very hush-hush. No one here knows I have the Intersect and the intel from my flashes is disguised at her end, attributed to many different sources."

Sarah nods thoughtfully. "OK. I'm following. We weren't sure exactly how, but we were pretty sure she'd found some way to make it work. So what triggered your alarm bells?"

"To make a long story short, there have been gaps in the Intersect. As if certain data had been hurriedly, and rather clumsily, digitally redacted."

"What kind of data?"

"Ilana Truffaut is just one example. Ran across the name while flashing on another file. Flashed on it in turn, but there was nothing behind it, so to speak. Just a blank space where there should have been the agent's file. And it happened more than once. For example, Rebecca Franco and Katie O'Connell." He raises an eyebrow.

She shrugs a shoulder. "Both me."

He nods. "At first I thought it was random. Some sort of glitch. But then I started to see a pattern in what you might call adjacent files. Data that, perhaps, should have been removed, but of a type that would be easy to overlook. Travel orders. Requisitions. Directives. All relating to the current identity, current mission. Digital detritus, you might call it. After some time had passed, I began to suspect that the redacted data was referring to one person and one person only. Someone who, for some reason, it seemed that they didn't want me to be aware of.

"A woman. Just so happens that it turned out to be you."

"And you put all that together. Amazing." She shakes her head.

He grins. "Well, to be fair, I didn't know it was _you_ until you confirmed those were your aliases."

"Still, to get even that close was pure genius."

"Thanks." He flushes with pleasure at her words, then continues, "Anyway, I realized a couple of things. If I had designed the Intersect, there would be no reason to cut you out of it. Charles Carmichael didn't even know you, so why? And why just this one person?"

"Wait, Chuck. Didn't they take Casey out too? Weren't they afraid he could trigger memories as well?"

"That's a good point. Thinking back, I realize that I can't recall having a similar experience with any data that could've related to him. Is it possible that whoever sent the information had better a handle on his cases, so made sure I never got sent anything that could lead me back to him?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"He works for the NSA, so they would have access to his complete dossier, every mission he'd gone on. But maybe, since you're CIA, their access was more restricted, and stuff slipped by them?"

"Chuck! I never told you I was CIA. You remembered?"

He's puzzled. "I guess I did. It just seemed like I've always known that."

She smiles happily. "Well, let's hope that sort of thing keeps on happening.'

"Amen to that."

She nods. "OK. Just so I'm clear. Casey didn't crop up because they removed him more thoroughly and/or filtered the data more efficiently with him. That's what you think happened?"

"Probably. But maybe there's another possible explanation."

"What's that?"

"Maybe, deep down, I somehow knew that Truffaut and the others were important to me. That, when stuff popped up, I simply paid more attention. Was less willing to let it go without knowing what was going on behind the scenes. Maybe I was searching for you without being consciously aware of it."

Smiling gently, she says softly, "I kinda like the thought of that."

He leans in close. "Me too," he replies, suddenly losing himself in her eyes.

After a moment or two passes, he gives himself a little shake. "In any case, even if I'd had a reason to cut you out, I wouldn't have done such a sloppy job of it. Professional pride and all that. So logically, this Intersect wasn't my creation. As soon as you confirmed the Truffaut thing, it became clear that this was a version that Beckman had created and controlled. A version that I'd downloaded voluntarily after she'd somehow made me believe that I was Charles Carmichael. Clearly, in order for me to remain useful to her, she needed to minimize the chances of me recalling my real life. She recognized that you would, almost certainly, be the strongest possible trigger for my memories."

He smiles. "And she was right. You, Sarah Walker, are one helluva trigger."

Grinning, she replies, "Happy to be of service."

But then he sees her expression change, sudden concern replacing her good humor.

"What is it, Sarah?"

She looks away from him, down into her lap. Her voice is small, tentative. "Chuck, how much detail was there in the missions you flashed on? The ones using my cover identities?"

It's easy to see the worry in her eyes.

"Not much. Just the bare facts of the mission's outcome."

She brightens a bit. Looks up into his face once more. "So no precise description of what had happened?"

"No, Sarah. That had been redacted." He pauses. "But there was a listing of casualties, so to speak."

"Oh." Her face falls again.

"What's worrying you, Sarah?"

He sees her gnawing at her lower lip, senses her reluctance.

"Chuck, Gillian said some things, back there in your condo."

He's caught off guard by this seeming left turn, but quickly realizes she's leading him somewhere.

Wherever it is, he's willing to follow.

"What things, Sarah?"

"That I was no more than a soulless, heartless weapon. A monster."

His anger boils once more at this reminder, his voice harsh at the memory. "Yes. I remember her saying that. She upset you too, didn't she?"

Shrugging one shoulder, she quietly, almost breezily, replies, "I'm used to most people looking at me that way. It doesn't really bother me anymore."

Chuck, while doubting the complete truth of her words, wisely makes no comment. Instead, he asks, "What did upset you, then?"

She pauses. "I was afraid."

Somehow, Chuck can't picture the woman at his side ever being afraid of anything or anyone. And yet, here she is, confessing those feelings to him. Intuitively, he understands how agonizingly difficult this must be for her, to admit that sort of thing to anyone. That she's willing to do so with him causes an upsurge of emotion, makes it hard for him to speak.

Finding his voice, he squeezes her hand, then gently, tenderly, asks, "Of what, Sarah?"

She looks down at her lap once again. "I was afraid, Chuck, of what you might think. That her words might make you doubt your feelings, your reasons for caring about me. We're just starting out again and I thought that—"

"Stop, Sarah. Stop right there." His voice, though quiet, is firm.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide, surprised by his forcefulness.

"Do you remember what I said to her? About how I couldn't be in love with someone who actually was the way she portrayed you?"

She nods. "Yes, but—"

"No buts. Did you believe me?"

Her eyes search his face. "Yes, Chuck. I did." He frowns, "I _do_ believe you. It's just that right now you know so little about me. Yet you told Gillian you were certain, but how can you be?'

She turns her head, stares straight ahead. To Chuck, it feels like she's physically distanced herself without actually moving.

Her voice is so quiet, almost a whisper. "Maybe I _am_ no better than she thinks."

While he can't recall specifics, Chuck is quite certain that, in their past, he'd been the recipient of her oft-repeated reassurances.

It's his turn now.

He takes his hand and, placing it softly on her far cheek, slowly, gently, turns her head back to face him

His eyes on hers, only a few inches away, he quietly says, "Sarah, there's only one person in this car who believes there could be any truth in that. And that's you."

"How can you know that, Chuck?"

He knows he needs to find words, not just tell her that's it's this absolute conviction in his mind and heart, although it's so very true.

"Sarah, why did you come to Casper?"

There's a flash of disappointment. "I thought you knew why, Chuck."

He nods. "Yes, I do. But I want to hear it from you."

She looks into his eyes for a few seconds, then replies, earnestly, "I had to see you. To try and find out if you could be in my life again. If I could have a place in yours."

"Why?"

It appears she's about to raise an objection again, but he cuts her off. "Humor me."

"Because I love you."

"Why, Sarah? Why would a woman like yourself pay any attention to someone like me? I'm nothing special."

She's angry. "Stop talking like that! You're the best person I've ever known! You're everything to me! Everything!"

"But, Sarah, the woman that Gillian described would never have taken the time to come to know me. A soulless woman would've dismissed me out of hand. A heartless one would've burned me, handed me over to the powers that be without a second thought. A monster would never have cared enough to come and find me."

She's still fuming. "Yes, of course, a woman like that would...Oh!" She stops, sudden comprehension replacing her fury.

Softly. "Do you understand now? Why I'm so certain, even though I know so few facts about you?"

She nods, blinks back abrupt tears.

He leans closer, gives her a quick, little kiss. "So, no more of that, OK?"

"OK."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He glances towards the front seat, "I will say this, though. The truth is that the confidence I feel is much more about you than Casey. I'd say about 90/10. Mostly, I feel certain about him because you do. Because you vouched for him. I trust your judgment.

"I trust _you_."

She flushes.

"Chuck, I need to apologize for my behavior back there. With Gillian."

He's puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"She seems like a nice person, and she was just looking out for you. Yet I was unkind, vindictive. It was beneath me. And I'm sorry."

"Sarah, I'm not saying I agree with you, but why do you feel that way? What did she do, aside from being totally unfair to you, that is?"

"She insulted you, Chuck."

"How?"

"By implying that you're the kind of man who's too stupid to see what kind of person you're falling for, and that, by extension, it could only be the physical aspect that attracted you."

He grins. "Well, you are quite attractive, you know."

She blushes, uses her free hand to gently slap him in the chest. "Stop it. I'm trying to be serious here."

He assumes a straight face. "Gotcha."

"It just burns me when people think so poorly of you."

"Sarah, the truth is that I really didn't think of that. I was only upset by what she said about you." He grins again. "It just burns me when people think so poorly of you."

That gets a smile, as he'd intended.

"Anything else?"

She almost snarls. "Yeah, that crack about winding up in your bed was a cheap shot."

"I agree."

She nods. "Gillian is quite attractive."

"I noticed. But you do know there's no reason for you to be jealous, don't you?"

She nods. "I know." She pauses. "And I wasn't really jealous of Gillian, per se. At least, not in the way a person usually thinks of jealousy."

She falls silent.

Gently, he prods, "So, what was it?"

"I guess that, in the end, it wouldn't have made any difference if she'd been a redhead or a blonde. Or even that she's an attractive woman. What made me envious was that she'd been able to be with you, close to you, when I couldn't. That there's a whole year of my life gone, a year that I didn't have with you. A year I'll never get back."

She hangs her head, eyes downcast. "I know that sounds incredibly selfish, considering all that you've gone through, but I can't help it. It's just the way I feel."

Gently, he takes his hand, raises her chin. "Hey, Sarah. Please look at me."

She brings her eyes to his.

"Don't. Don't worry about that. It's not selfish. If the situation had been reversed, I know I'd feel the same way. Please put it out of your mind."

She nods. "I'll try."

"Good. Now was there anything else?"

"Yes. It was when she was waving her gun around. She was dangerous."

He scoffs a little. "Sarah, I doubt she'd ever pointed a gun at anyone in her entire life."

"I know. It was easy to tell she'd never drawn her weapon in anger before. She was nervous, and that made her unpredictable."

"She had good reason to be nervous. I saw her face when she realized who she was up against."

"That's exactly why she was so dangerous, Chuck. With a professional, I would've known where I stood. Would've known there was no chance that you would get hurt accidentally. Gillian, on the other hand, may have panicked, pointed her weapon towards you without intending to do so."

"What would you have done if she had?"

"If her trigger finger had so much as twitched, I would've dropped her." Her voice is harsh, flat.

He can't keep the shock from his voice. "What?! You mean—"

"Yes."

"But, Gillian—"

Her expression is firm, her voice unyielding. "No buts. No one who threatens your life remains standing if I have any say in the matter."

"But—"

"No. One."

Chuck finally understands she'll brook no disagreement, so raises no further objections.

Instead, he just stares at her, trying, in his mind, to reconcile this seemingly harsh, uncompromising Sarah with the tearful, emotional one of just a few moments ago.

Then it hits him. "You've always felt that strongly, haven't you?"

"Yes. Right from the very beginning." She pauses, then somewhat hesitatingly, adds, "Chuck, just after we first met, Graham gave me an order. An order about what I was to do if you decided to run."

"Graham, head of the CIA at one time?"

"Yes. Used to be my boss."

He nods "OK. So he told you, what? Arrest me? Put me in a bunker?"

"No, Chuck." She grimaces. "Kill you."

His voice goes up an octave or two. "Kill me?"

She nods grimly. "Yes."

"Why? Why would he tell you that?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I keep forgetting you don't remember what happened. Are you aware that you've had the Intersect in your head before?"

"Yes, of course, I remember that—"

He stops, trying to put the pieces together. The light comes on.

"I had the Intersect _before_. That's why you came into my life wasn't it?"

"Yes, but it wasn't the reason why I _stayed_ in your life. Not directly, at least."

"And what reason _did_ you have to stay in my life, Miss Walker?"

She ducks her head. "You already know why."

"Yes, I believe I do." He leans in, kisses her forehead. "Thank you for staying."

She gestures with her head towards Casey. "Both of us were sent, by our respective agencies, to retrieve it. We thought you were involved in its theft."

"Was I?"

She shakes her head. "No, you were just an innocent bystander. Wasn't your fault that it got stuck in your brain. But we didn't know that at first. Graham wasn't about to take any chances with you passing it on to someone else. Thus the order."

"Did I know about this?"

"No, I never told you."

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't relevant. I wouldn't have obeyed Graham. I knew from almost the first moment we met that I could've never carried out such an order. And that I would do everything in my power to stop anyone else from hurting you. Or taking you from me."

He blurts out, "Longshore." Then shakes his head. "Why did I just say that?"

"He was an agent who was ordered to take you away. To put you in a bunker. He's dead."

He's a little afraid to ask. "Did you shoot him?"

"No, Chuck. Someone else did. It's a long story." She pauses, murmurs, "But I _was_ ready to pull my piece on him. A fellow agent."

Chuck can see she's lost in thought, so stays quiet. Gives her a few moments.

He decides to change the subject.

"I guess you and Casey must have really wondered where Beckman had stashed me. All these months of looking for me must have been frustrating, but your hard work paid off and I want to thank the both of you."

She stares at him, hit anew by the depth of his ignorance. And by her own assumptions.

"Chuck, we hadn't been looking for you. It was a fluke that Casey found you."

He looks crushed. "Oh. I would've thought that you..."

She takes his hand in hers, looks into his eyes. Haltingly, she explains, "Chuck, we weren't looking for you because…because we thought you were dead. There was a fire at the hospital."

His jaw drops. Incredulous. "What? Dead? This whole time you thought I was dead?"

She nods. "Yes, Chuck. There was one occasion where we thought you might be alive, that Beckman had hidden you away. But it was a false trail. She did a very good job of convincing us that you were gone. It was only when Casey told me he'd found you that I realized she'd been lying."

"God, Sarah, I had no idea. What did you do?"

"Casey and I tried to find who was behind your death, not knowing that Beckman was pulling all the strings. Not surprisingly, we came up empty-handed after six months of effort."

He pulls her a little closer. "Thank you so much for trying. I'd like to hear the details later. But that's not really what I meant. What did _you_ do, Sarah?"

"What do you mean?" She squirms a bit in her seat, suddenly seemingly uncomfortable.

"Sarah, there was an underlying, lurking sadness I felt the whole time I was in Casper, a sadness that I now know was because you weren't in my life, even though I had no conscious recognition of that at the time." He pauses. "But you, Sarah, you _knew_ what had been taken from you. Yet, you still had to go on and live your life."

He leans in a little closer. "So, what did you do? Go back into the field?"

She doesn't answer for a few seconds, doesn't look at him when she does. "No, Chuck, I resigned."

"From the CIA?"

"Yes. But more than that."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitates. "After we'd failed, after _I'd_ failed, I…withdrew…from the world. I couldn't face the thought of running across people or places or TV shows or movies, anything that would remind me of you. I resigned myself to the fact that I would be spending the rest of my life without you."

He stares at her, both touched to his core that he means that much to her, and, at the same time, appalled by the thought that someone as beautiful as Sarah, both inside and out, might've gone through the rest or her life without loving or being loved.

"But, Sarah, surely you could've found someone..." He voice tapers off as he sees the fierce look on her face.

"Chuck Bartowski! Don't you dare say it! Or think it! I thought that I'd made myself clear about this."

He's momentarily taken aback by her ferocity.

She notices. Her expression softens, and her voice is gentle as she touches his cheek. "There's no one but you, Chuck. And there never will be anyone else. Never, ever forget that."

He shakes his head. Feels the tears stinging. "I won't, Sarah. Never again."

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

He leans closer, brings his lips to hers, feels her hand on the back of his head pulling him closer. It's more than few minutes before he opens his eyes and gently pulls back.

He smirks. "I guess you could say we sealed that promise with a kiss. Be careful, Ms. Walker, this might become a habit."

"Fine by me," she quickly, earnestly, replies.

He wipes away his tears, takes a look out the window. Sees the countryside rolling by.

"So, where _are_ we going?"

"Right now we're heading to the place where Casey found me. My…retreat, if you will."

"Ah! Your Fortress of Solitude." He gives her a grin.

"My what?"

"Didn't we ever discuss that?" He shakes his head in wonder. "Sarah, it's Superman's secret arctic base, where he could get away from it all. You know, to think about how he was going to save the universe and ponder how he could possibly love a woman who, while such a brilliant reporter, wasn't bright enough to see through Clark Kent's rudimentary disguise. Important stuff like that."

She chuckles despite herself. "Maybe now I can use the place to contemplate how I could possibly be in love with a guy who has such a fixation with comic books."

He huffs. "Ms. Walker, I'll have you know that I'm not quite that shallow. I do read graphic _novels_ as well."

"Sorry. I stand corrected."

"Apology accepted. So, why are we heading there? Are we going to use the place as a hideout?"

"No. It's just a stopover. Need to pick up a couple of friends."

"Friends? I sorta got the feeling you were there by yourself."

"They're not human friends, Chuck."

"Oh." He pauses. "Oh! Sarah, please, please don't tell me that you've turned into one of those strange cat people. One of those weird ladies who dresses up her pets in little tutus and stuff and gives them names like Miss Kitty McFluffybutt."

She laughs, shaking her head. "No, Chuck, not a cat person. Two dogs. Ed and Chase."

She's suddenly serious. "They're both very important to me, Chuck. Much more than pets."

He nods, waits for her to go on.

"They gave me something to hang on to. Something to love when the world seemed so…empty. I don't know what I would've done without them. If they hadn't been there, I probably would've gone back to the field. Taken any mission they offered." She looks into his eyes. " _Any_ mission, Chuck."

He nods his understanding, replies solemnly, "Then I definitely have to meet them. Anyone who looked after the woman I love deserves my respect and friendship. Do you think they'll like me?"

She reaches up, caresses his cheek. "I have no doubt of that, Chuck. None at all."

Softly, he asks, "Will you tell me about them?"

She thinks for a few moments, then replies, "They're both rescue dogs. Found them at a shelter in Denver. Ed, the yellow, short-haired one, is the bigger of the two. A little introverted. Quiet. The protector. Always looking out for Chase, who's black and white, curly-haired. Chase is the more sensitive one. They both can sense my moods, but Chase is usually the first one to come over to try and comfort me. Really smart. And a lot more vocal."

He pulls her a little closer. "They sound great, Sarah."

She's enthusiastic. "They are, Chuck. And they get along so well. Right from the first time they met each other." She chuckles. "They each have their own beds, but I often catch them sleeping, practically laying on top of one another, in Chase's bed. That is when they're not sleeping on mine."

He smiles at the image in his mind.

"Sarah, I have to tell you something." She looks into his eyes. "I thought you were alone, unloved, but I see I was wrong. I'm so glad you had them."

"Me too, Chuck." She looks at him a little anxiously. "But they could never take your place, you know that, right?"

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. After clearing his throat, he says, cheekily, "Well, Ms. Walker, now you can have the best of both worlds. Them and me."

She grins. " _You_ and them. You get first billing, sweetie."

"Thanks for that. And the pet name. Wait a minute. You didn't call either one of them _sweetie_ , did you?"

Her answering smile is mysterious. Enigmatic.

"Sarah Walker, do not tell me you tried out my pet name on a dog first!"

She laughs.

…

As carefully as he can, Casey eases his car down the crappy excuse for a road leading to her cabin, doing his best not to disturb the two sleepers in the back seat. He glances over his shoulder, sees Chuck still tucked in the corner, eyes closed, one arm around Sarah; she draped over him, her head on his chest, dead to the world, snoring softly.

Which Casey can now hear because he'd finally been able to remove his ear plugs an hour or so ago. He can't remember the last time he'd been around two people who could talk so much. Especially Walker. He'd had no idea she contained so many words.

He hadn't known exactly what they were saying, of course, but he had a pretty good idea of the general subject, even if their conversation hadn't been punctuated with the kisses and tears that he couldn't avoid occasionally catching in the rearview mirror.

After all, they had a whole year to catch up on. And a life forgotten.

Eventually, though, they'd fallen asleep, both succumbing to emotional and physical exhaustion.

Coming around a corner, Casey recognizes the landmarks, knows they've reached their destination. He brings the car to halt, a little gentler than last time, so there's not very much dust.

Yawning, he turns toward the back seat and reaches over to wake her. Maybe the fatigue makes him a little careless or maybe the last six months have dulled his memory. Whatever the case, he's barely touched her shoulder when, somehow, he's facing a wicked looking blade that she'd pulled from who knows where.

He pulls back his hand. Quickly. He hisses, "Whoa there, Walker! It's me."

She mumbles, "Sorry. Bad dream. Somebody was trying to take him from me." The knife disappears back to its hiding place.

"I assume they didn't get very far."

"Don't know. Was just getting to that part when you woke me up."

He grunts. "I'm sure they would've gotten what was coming to them."

She shrugs one shoulder as she sits up, yawns, then stretches. Looking around, she quietly asks, "We here?"

"Yeah. You can wake up Sleeping Beauty and we'll go and collect your mutts."

He watches as she leans in closer, and gently jogging the sleeping man's shoulder, whispers, "Chuck, wake up." She repeats herself before he finally opens his eyes.

As soon as he sees her face only a few inches from his, he smiles, lazily. "Hi, beautiful."

Casey watches as she smiles, a little shyly, surprised because Agent Walker doesn't do _shy_. Not for real, anyway.

"Hi to you too."

"I was having a wonderful dream. You and I were at the beach and you were—" He cuts himself off, blushing, clearly having temporarily forgotten that they are in the back seat of Casey's car, with the Major only a few feet away.

Chuck sits up and looks around. Obviously desperate to change the subject, he quickly asks, "So, we're here?"

She chuckles. "Yes. Let's go on up and I'll introduce you to the gang."

"Up?"

"Yes, Chuck. It's a bit of a hike."

He looks out the window, angles himself so he can see up the hill.

"I see what you mean."

...

As they near the crest of the driveway, Sarah notices both of her companions are puffing a bit. Actually, more than a bit.

"It appears you city boys are a little out of shape. Not up to the pace I set?"

Casey replies gruffly, "Just not used to the altitude, Walker."

Chuck gulping in some air and waving his hand vaguely in the Major's direction, manages to gasp, "What he said."

Sarah starts to laugh, but then cuts herself off, struck by a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Casey, why haven't the dogs noticed us?"

The Major looks around. "They certainly had no problem with that before." He listens carefully. "Maybe they're in the cabin."

"No. It's a nice day and Standing Bear hates to be inside unless there's no other choice." She feels that familiar, unwelcome tingle. "Something's not right here." She reaches behind, pulls her pistol from the waist of her jeans where she'd tucked it after getting out of the car. Casey does the same.

Turning to Chuck, she whispers, "Stay close behind me, OK?"

He nods. Steps closer.

Casey flanks out to the right, using the available cover effectively. Sarah, closely followed by Chuck, approaches the large rock that currently obscures the cabin from her sight.

Crouching down behind it, she sticks her head out, takes a quick look. Nothing seems to be out of order. She looks Casey's way, sees him behind a large tree. He shakes his head, indicating there's nothing amiss from his vantage point either.

Puzzled, she takes another quick glance, then catches sight of John Standing Bear, well beyond the cabin, a hundred yards away, near the tree line. His back is to her, rifle slung over his shoulder. She can't tell what he's doing, he appears to just be standing there with Saridj, his dog, at his side. There's a movement and she sees Ed raise his head.

Even more puzzled now, and seeing there's no apparent problem, she stands and calls out.

The man turns and she waves, catching his attention. His return wave seems somehow halfhearted to her, although she can't say exactly why she feels that way.

Ed starts to run in her direction, but she notices he appears to have a slight limp. John and Saridj start walking toward her as well, seemingly reluctant to close the distance.

 _What the hell is going on?_

Then it hits her.

 _Where's Chase?_

She looks around and sees no sign of him. Wonders if he's sick, maybe in the cabin.

By this time Chuck and Casey have joined her. When Ed finally reaches her, the dog lays down at her feet, whining. And even though Sarah tries to avoid over-attributing human emotions to an animal, she's convinced the dog is sorry, ashamed. And when John Standing Bear gets closer, and she sees the expression on his face, she knows that something bad has happened.

He stops a few feet from her, his head held high, but not proudly, more as if he's willing to accept whatever comes his way.

"John, where's Chase?"

Hs stoicism slips for a moment. She sees the shame in his eyes. "Sarah, I have failed you."

She tries to damp down her anxiety, asks, "How, John?"

"Chase is dead."

The air seems to leave her lungs in a rush, and she's sure her heart stops for a moment. She feels Chuck come close and take her hand in his.

"What happened?"

"For the last few years, Saridj and I have had occasional contact with a wolf that I call the Red One because she has a tinge of that color in her coat. We've always respected each other's right to live in the high country and have avoided any confrontation. But earlier this year I noticed she had been injured. Perhaps she'd been forced out of the pack. Was on her own. May have become desperate. Until yesterday, I've never seen her come this far down.

He pauses, and Sarah knows the difficult part is coming. "Yesterday, the three dogs were playing, back there near the tree line. Saridj had run back to the cabin, thirsty, leaving Ed and Chase momentarily by themselves. I was about to call them back when the Red One, who'd been upwind, waiting for an opportunity, took it."

Sarah, trying hard to blink back her tears, somehow chokes out, "She attacked Chase?"

The man shakes his head. "No, she attacked Ed, had him down on the ground, was ready to kill him, when Chase attacked her from behind, biting her back leg and hanging on. The Red One, enraged, turned on him, and before Saridj or myself were able to intervene, had Chase's neck in her mouth. I grabbed my rifle, ran towards them, shot her, but I was too late. Chase's neck was broken.

"He died a warrior's death, Sarah. I gave him a death name. Honiahaka. Little Wolf. We were about to bury him when you called out to me."

He spits out, "The Red One's carcass, I dragged into the bush, food fit for the scavengers."

He then points to the border collie at his side. "I know it is not nearly enough, but I offer you Saridj in Chase's place."

She shakes her head, using her fingers to wipe away the tears. "No, John. I can't accept your offer. As generous as it is, Saridj and you are one, mustn't ever be separated while both of you live. But I thank you for it. And I don't blame you for what happened. So please put any thoughts of that out of your mind."

He nods, solemnly replies, "Thank you, Sarah."

She turns to Chuck and Casey. "I want to go and say goodbye to him. By myself. Please wait here."

After bending down and giving Ed an affectionate pat on the head, she walks away, her back straight, head unbowed.

Chuck, following her with his eyes, has his attention drawn back to the tall man standing before him when he hears the words, "You are the one."

"Excuse me?" He looks into the man's dark eyes.

"You're the one she's been grieving over."

Chuck looks her way again. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"She needs you."

"Yes. She's as much as told me that."

"No. She needs you right now. Go to her."

"But she said she wanted to be alone."

"That _was_ her nature. But it cannot be that way anymore. You have to go to her, make certain she knows you're there to share her grief as well as her joy."

Chuck looks to Casey. The man nods. "He's right. Go after her."

"What can I do? Say?"

"Just be there. That's all."

After a further moment's indecision, he nods, starts walking after her. He's twenty feet behind her, when he sees her go down on one knee, intently studying something he can't see. After a moment, he realizes she's looking into a grave. Chase's.

He gives her a minute. Then, treading softly, walks to her side, loathe to break into her focused anguish. Nonetheless, she (of course) notices his approach, looks up at him, eyes overflowing.

He says nothing, just places his hand gently on her shoulder. She nods, then directs her attention once again to the small dog laid out on a bed of pine boughs, looking for all the world like he's merely sleeping.

After a few more moments of silence, she whispers, "He reminded me of you. His kindness. His empathy. His talkativeness." She chuckles wetly.

"I loved him, Chuck. So much."

He nods. "I know, Sarah."

"Until I met you, I wasn't sure I was capable of feeling that way about anyone."

She looks up at him. "Thank you."

He feels as if his heart's about to burst. Overcome with emotion, all he can do is nod.

She stands, brushes the dirt from her knee. Looks down to the small grave again. "Will you help me cover him?"

"Of course, Sarah."

She kneels again, gently, tenderly pets the little creature's head.

"Goodbye, little one. You'll be in my heart. Always."

Together, using their hands, they pull the small pile of dirt into the grave, making sure it's firmly packed. Then they pile large stones on top.

Standing and brushing the dirt from her hands, she turns to face him, looking him squarely in the face. Chuck sees something in her eyes, is unsure what it is.

Anxiety. Fear. Maybe both or something else entirely.

"Chuck, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course, Sarah. What is it?"

"Never leave me."

The idea of him leaving her voluntarily is so preposterous, that he's a little disappointed that she might think he ever would do so. But then he understands.

She's worried about him leaving _involuntarily_.

And although he well knows he would have little or no control over that, he also knows she needs to hear his words.

"Never, Sarah. Never."

She moves closer, clutches his shirtfront in her hands. Fervently, she demands, "No, you _have_ to promise."

He nods, assures her seriously, "Yes, Sarah, I promise."

Her eyes search his face, apparently finding what she's looking for. She releases her grip on his shirt. Smoothes it out. Pats his chest.

"Good. Good. We'll make it official after you're better."

"Excuse me?"

"If it's alright with you, I would like a small ceremony, just the people we care for most."

"Ceremony? What ceremony—Oh!"

She smiles, just a little. "Chuck, you didn't honestly think I was going to let you go again, did you?"

He shakes his head, feeling a little overwhelmed. "No, I guess I didn't."

"So, we have an understanding?"

He brightens, the thought of what he's agreed to starting to sink in. "I suppose we do."

"We'll keep it between the two of us for now, if that's OK with you?"

"Yes. I'm fine with that."

"Good. We'd better get going." Standing on her tiptoes, she quickly, softly, kisses him on the lips, then takes his hand as they start walking back to the two men waiting for them near the cabin.

…

As Chuck and Sarah approach, Casey can see that something's changed. There's a...serenity in her that he's never seen before. A quiet joy that suffuses her features, somehow managing to shine even through her grief.

He suspects they've made some sort of commitment to each other, but he doesn't comment.

Instead, he says, "Walker, I was just telling John that he'll probably be OK up here for at least a couple more days. Eventually, Beckman will get around to checking the data I requested while I was searching for you. Then they'll come and check the place out."

Sarah turns to the man in question. "What would you like to do, John? You're welcome to take the Defender and go wherever you choose."

He shakes his head. "No, I'll stay and watch over your place." He points back towards the high hills. "They won't know I'm here. I'll camp up there until they leave. The weather should be good for the next week or so."

Chuck asks, "You can sense what the weather will be like? That's cool."

John turns to Chuck. "No, I listened to the weather report on the satellite radio that Sarah had installed in her vehicle."

"Oh." He flushes and Sarah chuckles at his embarrassment. Even Casey cracks a smile.

John turns back to Sarah. "If it is alright with you, I would winter in your cabin. Take care of the place. That is, assuming you're not planning to stay here yourself."

"No. Later, perhaps. Maybe in spring. You're welcome to use it."

"Thank you, Sarah. After you leave, I'll move your vehicle to a hiding place I know. Just in case whoever comes here gets any idea about impounding it.

"Good idea, John. There's an encrypted satellite phone in the Defender that we can use for communication. You might have to run the vehicle to charge it from time to time. I'll write down the numbers for you."

"Thank you."

He turns to Chuck again. "I didn't get your name."

"Chuck."

Chuck looks at the tall man as he mulls over the name, wondering if he'll get the usual amused response.

"Chuck. It's a good name. Solid. Be proud of it."

Surprised, he replies. "Thank you."

Casey pipes up. "Walker, we should get your stuff and get going. It'll be dark soon and I don't want to drive that road in the dark."

"OK, Casey. Won't need much. Just some clothes and the stuff for Ed."

Casey walks over, shakes Standing Bear's hand. Looking at the rifle slung over the man's shoulder, he says, "That was quite the shot, especially over open sights and on the move."

He shakes his head. "No, it would have only been a good shot if it'd been ten seconds earlier."

Chuck stands in, repeats Casey's action. "Good to meet you, John. Hopefully, we'll see each soon."

"Good to meet you, Chuck. Have you promised to take care of her?"

"Yeah, I guess I have. We've promised each other."

"Good."

Sarah takes her turn and, before the man has a chance to demur, wraps her arms around him, hugs him tightly. After a few awkward seconds, he tentatively returns her gesture.

"Thank you, John. We'll see you in the spring, assuming all goes well."

"I'm looking forward to it."

…

"I'm bored."

"Bored, Morgan? We've been here less than two days. Besides, you've got that game station to play with, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it only has old games. Played them already."

Devon jumps in. "How about that stack of comic books?"

"Old too. Read 'em all."

"Well, you'll just have to make do."

"Could I go online? Play games with my friends?"

"Sorry, Morgan. Our instructions were explicit. Nothing online."

"Sounds kinda paranoid to me."

"I'm sure Sarah has her reasons."

"I guess so. OK, I'll go back downstairs. Try and find something to do."

He drags himself off the couch, heads down the stairs.

Devon turns to Ellie, "I'm a little bit on his side, Ellie. What do you think could be going on that requires us all to pack up at moment's notice and hide out here? After all, it's been a year since…," his voice trails off.

While Ellie appreciates her husband's efforts not to remind her of that day, she replies firmly, "…since we lost Chuck. You can say it. I've accepted it."

Devon nods. "It's just that with him gone, I thought that we were well and good out of the spy business."

"I thought so too. But Sarah made it clear there is some potential danger right now. That Beckman might have some reason to want to get to us."

"Did she say why?"

She shakes her head. "No. Her last text simply said they're bringing someone important here."

"Do you think they found your dad?"

She shrugs her shoulders just as a ping goes off, signifying a text message. She looks at her phone. "They're five minutes out."

Ellie looks toward the front door. "Well, whoever it turns out to be, at least I'll get a chance to see Sarah again. That makes this whole thing worth it."

A couple of minutes later they see the lights of a car coming down the long driveway leading to the farmhouse.

"El, I'll go and get Morgan. I'll give you a couple of minutes to have your reunion with Sarah."

She smiles. "Thanks, hon'."

As Devon descends the staircase, Ellie walks to the front door, reaching it just a knock comes.

She opens it, sees Sarah standing there, and before the spy can react, embraces her in a fervent hug.

"Sarah, I've missed you so much."

It takes a moment for Ellie to realize her hug is not being returned. She pulls back, releases Sarah, looks into her eyes, sees the uneasiness in them. "Sarah, what's wrong? I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"I am, Ellie. Really I am. It's just that there's something so important that you need to know, and I couldn't figure out how to tell you in advance. Please don't hate me for doing it this way."

She steps aside.

And there, at the bottom of the front porch stairs, stands a tall man with curly brown hair. Looking up at Ellie and smiling the goofy smile that she'd never thought she'd ever see again.

"Chuck?"

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: I know. And we barely get to see Ellie and the gang. More next time. I promise. Always appreciate everyone who's following along. And your reviews. Thank you._


	8. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Seven

CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC

Chapter 7

 _A/N: We're getting closer to the end._

 _Thanks to my beta, micahelfmx, for his patience and insightful suggestions. Any remaining errors are my responsibility._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Do this for fun and the satisfaction that there are people out there who seem to like my stories._

 _If you're one of them, I'd really like to hear from you._

— _-_

 _And there, at the bottom of the front porch stairs, stands a tall man with curly brown hair. Looking up at Ellie and smiling the goofy smile that she'd never thought she'd ever see again._

" _Chuck?"_

…

 **Three Hours Earlier**

"Walker, I'm gonna pull over to this truck stop. I need to use the facilities. We can gas up and get some food, as well."

"OK, Casey. Sounds good." She looks up from her lap where Ed lays, resting, glances out of the window.

"Where are we?"

"Just south of Salina."

Chuck, sitting close, with his arm around Sarah's shoulders, asks, "Colorado?"

"Utah. If you could've found some way to take your eyes off of Walker for more than a couple of seconds at a time, you might've noticed that we crossed the state line a couple of hours ago."

He flushes a bit at Casey's accurate jibe.

"Gotcha."

Sarah, seeing his embarrassment, grins, then turns her head to the front seat. "Casey, did you notice if they have a dog walking area? Ed could use a break as well."

"Yeah, they do. I stopped here on the way up, remembered seeing people out with their dogs. Figured he might need it."

"Thanks, Casey."

"I'll grab some burgers."

At the word 'burgers', Ed pops up, looks pleadingly into Sarah's eyes.

She chuckles. "I swear this animal must know every synonym for meat in the English language." Scratching the little yellow dog behind his ears, she bumps noses with him, then fondly says, "OK, you rat." She looks at Casey. "Cheeseburger for me and a couple of patties for the bottomless pit. Thanks."

"How about you, Bartowski?"

Chuck, who'd been enchanted watching the interaction between the woman and her dog, absently replies, "The same for me."

Casey grunts. "Burger or just the patties?"

He flushes again. "Sorry, Casey. Cheeseburger. And a Coke, please."

Casey brings the car to a halt. "Meet you back here in fifteen." He points to his right. "Dog area's just over there."

They all exit the car and Casey sets the locks. "See you in a bit."

He starts to walk away, but stops when Sarah calls out, "Casey."

He turns. "Yeah?"

"Could you have them throw in some extra pickles for me?"

"Sure." He turns and, without further ado, walks toward the building, stretching out his arms and twisting his torso a bit as he does so.

Chuck gives her a grin. "You do like your pickles, don't you?"

"I do. You remembered?"

He nods. "Oddly enough, that popped into my head a few hours ago. No idea why. Weird."

She replies, encouragingly, "Any memory is a good one, Chuck."

"Yeah, you're right there."

Sarah puts Ed down on the ground and attaches his leash. Together, they walk towards the grassy area where they see, in the gathering twilight, a couple of people with their dogs.

Just as they step onto the grass, a large Husky on the far side of the area bounds toward them, apparently intent on making Ed's acquaintance. Chuck sees Sarah tense up, her free hand starting towards the pistol tucked in at her back, under her jacket. Before she can reach it, though, he, greatly daring, quickly takes her hand in his, saying softly, "I'm sure it doesn't mean any harm."

Sarah looks unconvinced, stubborn. "I'm not taking any chances, Chuck."

"Hey, I get it. Let me handle it."

He releases her hand, steps forward, intending to intercept the animal, but it becomes unnecessary when a nearby older woman calls out sharply, "Eleanor! Come here!"

The dog obediently stops, then returns to the woman's side, getting its leash reattached.

Chuck turns around, intending to tell Sarah that there was nothing to worry about after all, when he sees her eyes fixed on him, an odd look on her face, one that quickly vanishes as she schools her expression once more.

He's puzzled. "What?"

She shakes her head. "Kind of an unusual name for a dog, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I don't think I've heard that one too often."

"Not for a dog." She moves closer, takes his hand. "Thanks for stepping in."

He waves her off. "It was nothing."

She's about to reply when the woman with the Husky walks up to them. "I'm sorry if Eleanor caused you any concern. She's really quite gentle, sort of the motherly type. Just very enthusiastic."

Sarah replies, "Don't worry about it."

Just then, a man calls out from the parking lot. "Hey, Edna. You finished over there?"

She replies, "Yes, George, we'll be there in a minute." Looking down at Ed, she says to Sarah, "You've got a cute little guy there. Bye."

The woman walks away, the Husky practically dragging her towards the waiting George.

Chuck watches as the woman returns to the car. "You know, for some reason, I kinda like the name Eleanor."

Sarah doesn't look his way, simply replies, "Me too." Then, seeing there are no longer any other dogs in the vicinity, she bends down, unclips Ed's leash. "OK, boy, have at it."

Ed immediately runs to the nearest tree and, after giving it a couple of sniffs, relieves himself. Then he tears around the area, his long ears flopping, as Chuck and Sarah watch amusedly. Eventually, Ed tires, walking back to Sarah's side. She clips on the leash again and, taking Chuck's hand, they start walking back to the car.

As they do so, something catches his eye. He gently hip-checks Sarah, gestures with his head toward the illuminated letters on the front of the building.

"Love?" She looks at him quizzically.

"The 'S' is burnt out. But it's good advice, don't you think?"

She squeezes his hand, smiles. "Yes, very good advice."

They reach the car, see Casey coming toward them, a big bag in one hand and a drink tray in the other.

Gruffly, the Major tells them, "You two take the front." Ed yelps. "Ok, three of you. I need some shuteye. It's about time for someone else to take the wheel."

Chuck speaks up, "OK, Casey, I'll—"

"Not you, Bartowski. Not gonna put her in the hands of someone who has no appreciation for fine American automobile craftsmanship."

Embarrassed, Chuck turns to Sarah, looking for help. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

Sarah grins at his discomfort. "Yes, Chuck, it was." She turns to Casey. "No problem. I'll drive."

"Good." After unlocking the car, he tosses her the keys, then looks pointedly at Chuck. "Keep the food off the seats."

…

For probably the fifth time in the last few minutes Chuck looks across to Sarah behind the wheel of Casey's car, her face illuminated by the faint light from the instrument panel. And for the fifth time in the last few minutes, she senses his gaze and briefly turns to give him a reassuring smile, before turning her attention back to the road stretching out in front of them.

Curled up on the seat between them, Ed continues to sleep, having just finished flipping over on to his stomach after being on his back for the past hour or so. His canine dreams seem to have ceased for the moment, and along with it, the movement of his legs, the occasional whine and some other interesting, but mildly irritating, noises.

Speaking of irritating noises, Chuck looks over into the back seat to see that Casey has also chosen this moment to change positions, finally putting to rest the snores that Chuck swore were loud enough to rattle the windows.

Shaking his head, he turns to Sarah. "I swear that man's snoring could wake the dead."

She chuckles. "I'll make sure we steer clear of any cemeteries."

He grins. "How does he do that? We weren't more than five minutes out of Salina before he was dead to the world."

"Soldier. Knows he has to find a way to get rest whenever he can."

"He was a Marine, wasn't he?"

She nods. "How'd you know?"

"First time I saw him, it just came to mind. More of a feeling than an actual memory."

She nods.

He looks out the window, watches the barren landscape, illuminated by the full moon, pass by for a few seconds before turning to her and asking, "Where are we heading, Sarah? Back to Burbank?"

"No. Not right now. There's a safe house in St. George. About an hour down the road."

"We gonna hole up there?"

"For a while. But not just us." She pauses. "Remember the woman I mentioned? The one we hope will be able to help you?"

Just after leaving his condo, he'd asked, jokingly, that, aside from kidnapping him, was there another part of the rescue plan? She'd given him a little smile, briefly mentioned there was a doctor, a woman, who had experience with his situation. One who may be able to help. Sarah hadn't elaborated, and the conversation had quickly turned to other subjects.

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, she'll be there. Along with…a couple of other people."

"Why would she be at a safe house? Is she on the run as well?"

Sarah doesn't reply. He sees her gnaw at her bottom lip, feels her reluctance.

"What is it, Sarah?"

She keeps her eyes on the road. After another second or two passes, she quietly says, "Please don't be angry with me, Chuck."

He's surprised. "Angry? Why would I be angry?"

"I've been keeping something from you."

He's about to make a wisecrack of some sort to relieve the sudden tension, but, sensing her genuine apprehension, wisely decides to refrain. Instead, he gently asks, "What is it, Sarah?"

She glances his way before returning her attention to the road.

"Remember the lady with the dog? Back at Salina?"

Wondering where she's going with this, he simply replies, "Yes, Sarah, I do."

"Remember the dog's name? How you caught me looking at you when she mentioned it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I thought the name would mean something to you."

"Why would it?"

"Eleanor?" She pauses, glances at him again. "Ellie?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm fairly certain I've never known anyone with—"

The memory is remarkably like an Intersect flash, a jumble of confused images, but unlike the Intersect in that all the images are of one thing and one thing only: A woman, or in a few cases a girl, beautiful with brown hair and amber eyes. Eyes filled with so many emotions. Joy. Sorrow. Anger. Regret. Kindness. Goodness. Frustration. Tenderness.

And love. Always full of love.

Excitedly, he asks, "Sarah, who is she? Who's Ellie?"

Before she can answer he blurts out, "Wait, she isn't an ex-girlfriend or something is she? Childhood sweetheart?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No, Chuck, definitely not an ex-girlfriend." She glances his way. "Her last name was Bartowski, too."

He thinks for a moment before it hits him and he starts to babble, "An ex-wife? Was I married before? Divorced? Sarah, I had no idea—"

She quickly pulls the car over to the side of the road, then reaches over, grabs one of the hands he's waving about. Wary of the sleeper in the back seat, she quietly, but forcefully, exclaims, "Stop, Chuck! Stop!"

He closes his mouth.

Still holding his hand, she tells him earnestly, "Chuck, Ellie is your sister."

He gapes at her, shaking his head. "No. Sarah, I don't have a sister. I'm an only child. Don't you remember me telling…Oh!"

…

On the long trip down to her cabin, Sarah had gently probed him for more details about what had happened after he'd woken.

She'd followed along attentively, nodding from time to time, asking the occasional question. He told her as well as he could remember how Beckman had manipulated him into accepting the Intersect download and his assignment to Casper. Chuck had seen Sarah's anger building as he went on, but she'd kept it under rigid control.

Until he'd come to the part where he'd described how and when he'd been removed from the hospital, upon which Sarah had let out a curse, frustrated that she'd missed crossing his path by less than two hours.

Then her anger had ebbed, replaced by contrition. She'd pleaded for his forgiveness about not forcing her way into the hospital, regardless of the doctors' request to be given a day to sort matters out. He'd refused to let her accept any blame, despite her repeated entreaties. When she'd tried one last time, he'd stopped her words with a kiss.

And as she'd told him more details about that night, he'd felt her despair, her grief, her rage, rising up in his own heart. The effect upon him had been so strong that, even though it should've been the other way around, somehow, _she'd_ wound up comforting _him._ Tenderly brushing away his tears, kissing him, murmuring, over and over, soft words of reassurance.

Later, curious, she'd inquired about Charles Carmichael's life, both the fake one that'd been shoved into his brain and the fake real one he'd lived once in Casper.

He'd gone on to tell her about who he'd believed himself to be. The family and personal history they'd given him. An only child. An orphan.

After he'd spoken of the difficulty he'd had in reconciling the unfriendly, unkind, introverted Charles in his mind from the outgoing, good-natured person he found himself to be, she'd commented that true colors always come through in the end.

He'd thanked her with a kiss.

In his description of his life in Casper, he'd focused primarily on his job, his relationship with Sandra and Clark, careful to minimize anything to do with Gillian. Not that it was particularly difficult or misleading to do so. Beyond work, he really hadn't spent any significant amount of time in Gillian's company. And she hadn't occupied his thoughts in any meaningful way, either.

Shyly, he'd told her of the persistent feeling that somehow he'd be cheating if he accepted any of the offers that had come his way. However, he'd also hesitatingly confessed that, just this very morning, he had begun to think that maybe the time had come to move on from whatever was holding him back.

Ashamed, he'd tried to apologize to her, but she'd been adamant that he had nothing to apologize for. He'd disagreed. However, in this she was steadfast, so they'd put it behind them, settled it with a kiss once more. This one had been much more intense, had lasted much longer, and had been broken off only when they were reminded by a grunt from the front seat that they weren't alone.

Whereupon, he'd facetiously suggested that, if this was the way they were going to settle their differences, they might have to find stuff to disagree upon more often. She'd smacked him gently on the chest, even as she'd laughed quietly.

As she'd described, in more detail, the quest to bring to justice those responsible for his "death", he'd listened, simultaneously enthralled and appalled at all that she and Casey had done, what they'd gone through. She'd spoken dispassionately, but her eyes had betrayed the haunting memories of her helplessness, her frustration. When she'd finished, he'd quickly leaned in and kissed the top of her head, whispered his thanks, again and again. She'd nodded, then had nestled in just a little closer, her head on his chest. And he'd held her just a little more tightly.

They'd stayed that way for a few minutes, both content with silence.

When she'd spoken again, it was about her time in the cabin, the measures she'd taken to isolate herself from anything, anyone, that could remind her of him. How she'd said goodbye to her Porsche, not only because of its impracticality, but also because, every time she sat in it, she visualized him in the passenger seat, grinning at her.

And as she'd described her life there, one almost completely devoid of human contact, he'd wondered to himself what kind of person he could've possibly been, what he could've possibly done to garner such a reaction in a person as incredible as the woman he was now holding in his arms.

He'd been about to protest his worthiness when she'd suddenly shifted gears, changing the subject so quickly that it took him a few seconds to catch up. And after he'd done so, he'd had no desire to speak, only to listen.

Because she'd started telling him about how she'd fallen for him.

He'd listened, entranced, as she'd spoken of her first impressions of him. How cute and clumsy he'd been around her the first time they'd met. She'd described how kind and helpful he'd been with a young ballerina, and that, in order to do so, he'd excused himself from her company, leaving her alone.

She'd paused before admitting, with a bit of a blush, that she wasn't used to men doing that.

He hadn't been surprised, not even in the slightest.

And when she'd told him that, later on, she'd realized that this was the moment, the moment she'd started to fall in love with him, his heart had overflowed with conflicting emotions. Joy and frustration in almost equal parts.

How could he remember she liked pickles, but have no recollection of the first time he saw the woman who was to become the center of his universe?

Only the hope that he could be mended, made whole once more, had kept his frustration at bay. Had allowed him to follow along, pay rapt attention to her story.

It was an episodic tale, one that, more often than not, focused on her emotions, rather than details of time and place.

She told him how she'd felt the first time he'd touched her, his hand inadvertently on hers, sending an unaccustomed, almost electric shock straight to her heart. How the fake flirting she'd planned out in her head suddenly became so very real.

She spoke of her anger over the way he kept risking his life for her, how she used that anger to conceal her sick terror of him being hurt. Or worse.

She went on to tell him how his smile, his laugh, could brighten even her darkest day. How just seeing him across the room could make her happy. And how empty and restless she felt if she didn't see him every day.

Somewhat embarrassedly, she'd explained how she'd stubbornly continued to deny her feelings, pushing him away time and again. The hurt she'd felt when he'd been angry, frustrated or disappointed with her. And how she'd paid the price with solitary, sleepless nights, and lonely, tearful mornings.

But she'd also added how kind and patient he'd been, never truly giving up on her, on them. And how the simple act of holding her hand, reminding her that she had people who cared for her, had touched her heart so deeply, that she concluded that compromising herself with him wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

Until, one morning, she'd woken up and realized she had been looking at it all wrong.

A life _with_ him wouldn't be a compromise.

It was her life _without_ him that had been the compromise.

No, a life with him would be the promise.

But only if she mustered up her courage to tell him how she felt, damn the consequences.

He'd been about to interrupt, ask her why she hadn't done so, when she'd told him it was right about then that the Intersect had started acting up, affecting his mind and personality so adversely, that he'd been brought hastily to DC in an effort to remove the damn thing before it did permanent damage.

And the rest was history.

…

She says nothing. Gives him time to sort things out.

He's quiet for another moment to two, then smacks himself in the forehead, both literally and figuratively.

"Idiot!"

He shakes his head. "Sarah, the history they gave me just seemed so real. It's hard to shake it off just like that."

Gently, she replies, "I know, Chuck. I know."

He looks into her eyes, sees her empathy. "So, you're saying this Ellie woman is my sister?"

"Yes, Chuck. And she's the person we think will be able to help you get better."

"She's the doctor?"

"Yes, a neurologist. And she knows a lot about the Intersect. And you."

"That's good."

He's angry, but tries to keep it out of his tone. "Why didn't you tell me about her earlier? On the way down to your cabin? There were plenty of times you could've mentioned her, especially when I talked about my family history. Did you purposely hold back?"

She flushes. Nods.

"Why, Sarah?" He's frustrated by her reticence.

She doesn't answer for a few moments, and, when she does, he can tell she's worried he'll be angry with her.

"I didn't want you to hear about her, the life you had with her, second hand, Chuck."

"Is that why you didn't mention very many details about Burbank? Why you talked about your feelings more than anything else?"

"Yes. I wanted to make sure you knew why I fell for you, but I didn't want to give away too much else."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Chuck, when I sat down at your table this morning, you know what I desperately wanted to do?"

"Besides kissing me, you mean?"

She smiles, just a little. "Yes, besides that."

"Then, no, I'm not sure."

"I wanted to tell you everything about us. Every detail of you and me. Every touch. Every kiss. Every little moment that brought us closer."

She pauses. "I wanted to tell you that you loved me.

"But I didn't do that. Because if I did, it wouldn't be real. Not to you. Not to me. Not really."

He nods, thoughtful. "So, you're saying I needed to know for myself that I knew you, that I loved you."

"Yes, Chuck. So I bit my tongue, sat there and waited for you to work it out…or not."

"And if I hadn't? What would you have done?"

"I would've explained, in general terms, what had been done to you. That I was a CIA agent and that, if you were agreeable, another agent and myself would take you to a place where the damage could hopefully be undone."

He's hurt. "That sounds very impersonal. Would you have given up on us that easy?"

"No, Chuck. Not giving up. I guess you could say I would've been…deferring my hopes. Trusting that, if Ellie was successful, we would still have the chance."

He squeezes her hand, asks softly, "And if that hadn't worked, what would you have done then?"

She turns away, her eyes downcast. Her voice is flat, emotionless. Her words terse. "I would've removed myself from your life. Moved on with my own."

He tries to picture himself simply walking away from her. Knows it would be next to impossible for him to do so and has every reason to believe it would have been the same for her. He tries to get her attention, but she refuses to return his gaze.

So he reaches over, gently cups her chin in his hand, and tells her quietly, "Well, it's just as well, then, that I worked it out, isn't it?"

She looks up then, eyes brimming. "Yes, Chuck. It is."

He leans toward her. She does the same. Their lips meet. Tenderness and reassurance flowing between them.

The sleeping dog lying between them remains oblivious. As does the large man in the back seat.

After a minute or two passes, he pulls back a little, asks, "Let me see if I've got this. You feel it's imperative for me to remember Ellie on my own, just as it was for me to remember you?"

"Yes."

"So the emotions I feel for her will be real? The memories will be real?"

"Yes."

"I understand. But why did you even mention her to me then?"

"Like I said, when that woman mentioned the name, I thought for sure you'd remember. When you didn't, I was relieved, grateful I could put off the discussion until later, or perhaps leave it until you met her face to face. But as we got closer to the safe house, I knew that you needed at least some idea of what was ahead of you." She pauses.

"Chuck, Ellie's the most important person in your life. She can be very…intense, and you need to be prepared to see her once again."

"No."

"You don't think you need to be prepared?"

"No. She's not the most important person in my life."

He captures her eyes with his. "You are."

She blinks back more tears. "Chuck, you can't know that for sure."

"Sarah, have you heard the quote about a man leaving his father and his mother and sticking to his wife, becoming one flesh?"

"Yes. It's from the bible, right?"

"Yes, and it implies _leaving_ a sister as well. No matter how important she turns out to be, she can't occupy that central position anymore. You've taken that role. Maybe not officially yet, but in every other way."

Unable to speak, she nods, reaches over to pull him close, kisses him.

She pulls back, their foreheads touching, finally finds her voice. "Thank you. I promise to do my best."

"As do I."

He gives her a little peck on the lips, then looks around him.

"We'd better get this show on the road. Time to go and meet my sister. The second most important person in my life."

She grins before positioning herself behind the wheel, starting the engine and pulling back out onto the darkened, empty road.

"Unless, of course, there's someone at the safe house who's even more important to me than Ellie."

Chuckling, she shakes her head. "No, not more, but significant, nonetheless. It's up to you where you place them in the hierarchy."

He looks her way for few seconds, then replies, "That sounds interesting."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be, especially if the one I'm thinking of decides to protest his ranking in the new order."

...

He's only able to utter a single word, "Ellie", before the woman practically flies down the stairs, crashing into him with enough force to take his breath away. Enveloped in a hug so fierce, so possessive, he simply hangs on for dear life, pulling her close.

She says nothing, her choking sobs clearly making speech impossible. He feels her clutching at his back seemingly trying to draw him impossibly closer. Quickly, very quickly, the area where Ellie rests her head becomes soaked with warm tears. He feels his own spill out in response and, glancing briefly at Sarah, sees her swiping at her own eyes.

Oddly enough, it's not the sight of her or hearing her voice that transports him into the past.

It's her smell.

He doesn't know why, can't possibly find the words to describe it, but to him, she just smells like...home.

He's momentarily bewildered by the power of the memories, not with many details or specifics of time and place, but rather with an almost overwhelming feeling of gratitude and love for this woman crying in his arms.

He almost feels guilty at the intensity of his response, looks Sarah's way, sees her watching, hand over her mouth, eyes glistening. He catches her eye and she nods, telling him without words she's fine, that he has nothing to worry about.

He sends her a loving glance, then returns his attention to Ellie, whose sobs are just starting to wind down. He offers her his sleeve, which she uses noisily.

She leans back, cups his face in her hands, her eyes frantically searching his, and pleads, "Chuck, please tell me it's you. Please tell me I'm not dreaming."

He's about to reply, when she adds, "No. On second thought, don't tell me if I'm dreaming, because if I am, I don't want to wake up."

Smiling through his tears, he answers, "No, sis," the diminutive coming naturally to his tongue, "you're definitely not dreaming. It's me."

She pulls his head a little closer. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be, unless, of course, we're all living in the Matrix and nothing is what we think it to be."

She shakes her head, chuckles wetly. "It's you, all right." She's quickly serious again. "But how, Chuck? We all thought you were dead. We had a memorial service. We mourned. Moved on."

He opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by Ellie's sudden barrage of questions.

"Who did this to you, to us? And why? Where have you been for the past year? Why didn't you contact us? How did they find you? What are you going to do now?"

He puts up both his hands. "Whoa, sis. That's a lot of questions. I can answer some of them but Sarah's better equipped to answer the others."

"Sarah. Oh my, God, I forgot about Sarah." She turns, sees the blonde spy attempting to hide behind one of the porch pillars.

"Sarah Walker, come here, right now!"

Chuck can sense the trepidation in Sarah's hesitant descent of the stairs. Her reluctance to approach Ellie too closely. Sarah stops three feet away, wringing her hands nervously.

"Ellie, I really am sorry I sprang this on you—"

"Stop." Ellie closes the distance between them, looks into the agent's eyes. "Sarah, to my dying day I'll never forget what you did for me today. You brought my little brother back from the grave. I don't think I have the words to tell you just how grateful I am." She opens her arms and takes Sarah into her embrace, one which the blonde, after a moment's hesitation, returns.

Their heads close, Ellie murmurs, loud enough for Chuck to still hear, "Sarah, I never thought I could love you more than I did before all of this, but I was wrong. Thank you. Thank you, so very much."

Sarah, her head resting on Ellie's shoulder, sees Chuck watching, his tears flowing freely, manages to choke out, "You're welcome, Ellie. But it wasn't just me. Casey played a very big part in this."

Ellie pulls back, studies Sarah's face. "I'll thank him too. But somehow, I get the feeling that if you hadn't been there, I would be facing a complete stranger, not my brother."

"You may be overestimating my importance in all this."

"I seriously doubt it. We'll talk about that later. But before we go inside and start sorting this out, there's one very important thing I need to know."

She pauses, inquiring quietly, "Have you told him, Sarah?"

Abruptly transported back to that night at the hotel, Sarah has no doubt about what's being asked.

After glancing Chuck's way, she smiles, replies shyly, "Yes. Yes, I told him."

Ellie grins back at her. "And?"

Sarah blushes. "It seems we're engaged."

The brunette doctor claps one hand over her mouth, but a little bit of the squeal still manages to escape.

With tears threatening once more, she looks over at Chuck then back to Sarah.

The grin almost exploding off her face, she exclaims. "I knew it! I knew you were going to be my sister one day. It did take a little longer than I'd expected, but I knew it would happen. Have you set a date?"

Chuck replies, "No, Ellie. Not yet. We've only been engaged for a few hours. Besides, there are some…issues that we have to deal with before we can think about things like that."

She's anxious. "What issues? Are you OK?"

Sarah answers, "That's part of why we're here, Ellie. We need your help. But if it's OK with you, can we all go inside and tell the story for everyone to hear?"

"Of course. Of course." The three of them go up the stairs. But just as she opens the door, Ellie stops, looks around, sees Casey in the semi-darkness, standing patiently over by his Crown Vic, holding Ed in his arms.

She calls out, "John, you get in here. And bring that dog with you. We all need to talk. And I'll need some private time with you later."

Chuck hears Casey's grunt of assent as he follows the two women through the door, feels the big man tramping up the steps behind him.

Inside he looks around, walks a little further into the plain, but comfortable looking living room. There's a large flat screen TV over in one corner. And an impressive looking computer set-up on a nearby desk.

He hears Ellie ask Sarah who the dog belongs to, but is distracted from Sarah's answer by the sound of voices coming from a stairwell leading to what seems to be the basement. One deep and the other more high pitched. Voices that have a ring of familiarity.

"I told you. Ellie just wanted a few minutes alone with Sarah first."

"You know, I'd like to see her too. She's my friend as well."

There's a note of patient exasperation in the deeper voice. "Yes, I know that. Just be patient."

Ellie, obviously hearing the conversation as well, calls out. "OK, guys. You can come up now. Sarah's here. And she brought a surprise."

They hear footsteps moving toward the stairs. The higher pitched voice replies, "Finally. Did she bring pizza? Nobody will deliver out this far."

"Better."

"What could be better than pizza?"

From the side, Chuck sees two heads crest the top of the stairway, one sandy-haired, the other dark. For a moment Chuck thinks the two men are about the same height until he realizes that the man with the fair hair is one step further down.

It works out that the two men are facing more Ellie and Sarah's way when they reach the top of the stairs, so don't notice Chuck immediately. And he can't see either of their faces that clearly.

The tall man gives Sarah a hug, booms out. "Sarah, it's so good to see you again."

The shorter man, his back turned to Chuck, waits for the other man to step aside then moves in for his own hug. "Sarah, I've missed you. Are you OK? Where have you been?"

Ellie steps in, says, "Guys, we're all anxious to catch up with Sarah's life, but she brought someone with her. Someone I know you'll want to become reacquainted with." She gestures in Chuck's direction.

Both men turn and, for the first time, Chuck is able to see their faces clearly.

Devon.

Morgan.

Memories start pouring into his mind, but before he can even begin to make sense of them, his brother-in-law and his best friend (the definitions springing unbidden into his mind) are crushing him in a group hug, tears of joy flowing freely.

Through his own tears, Chuck has a sudden epiphany. He realizes that his situation has been like a jigsaw puzzle, one he was unable to complete because he hadn't been given all the pieces.

But as he looks over Morgan's shoulder and catches Sarah's eye, he realizes that the five most important pieces are right here in this room. The people he loves with his whole heart and strength are with him once more.

He knows the fine details remain to be drawn in, but for the first time since starting this journey, he can see the overall picture.

 _I_ am _Chuck Bartowski._

 _..._

Waking from her tranq induced sleep, Gillian immediately looks at her watch, has to blink a couple of times before she can clearly see the display. She's been out of it for almost ten hours. Groggily, she sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed, then unsteadily walks to where her purse is hanging on the chair. As she grabs her phone, she absently notices that someone has brought her shoes upstairs and placed them neatly on the floor beside the bed.

She calls a friend, one of her fellow NSA agents who's on duty at the ISP offices tonight. After Gillian tells her where she is, there's a pause followed by a knowing chuckle on the other end of the line.

"We'd all wondered where you'd gotten to."

Gillian, irritated by the unwarranted assumption (and by the fact that it wasn't true), snaps back, "I was tranqued, Julia. I can't take any chances driving in my condition. I need a ride back to the substation."

"What the hell happened, Gills?"

"Can't say right now. I'll need to call Fort Meade first. Please ask Walter to initiate the necessary security protocols."

A sobered Julie quickly replies, "Roger that. I'll be there in five. Will you be out front?"

"Yes. See you then."

Gillian disconnects, puts the phone back, then puts on her jacket, slips into her shoes, and slings her purse over her shoulder. She's about to leave the room, when she spies her Glock sitting on the chest of drawers. Relieved that no one is around to witness her oversight, she walks back, picks up the weapon and reinserts the magazine. Then, along with the round that Major Casey had ejected, drops both items into her purse.

She's waiting on the sidewalk, feeling a little better as she breathes in the cool night air, when Julia, true to her word pulls up in front within the time promised.

As she slips into the passenger seat, her friend gives her a long look. "You OK?"

"Yeah, just a little groggy."

Julia nods. "Where's Chuck?"

"Gone."

The woman gapes at her. "Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?"

"Just that. Can't say any more until I talk to the higher-ups."

Julia just shakes her head. "Alright. If he's gone, who's in charge?"

Gillian smiles grimly. "I guess that would be me."

Julia grins. "Don't envy you. Sounds like it's gonna hit the fan."

"You've got that right."

After they arrive back at the office, Gillian goes into Chuck's office (hers now, she guesses, at least for now) and shuts the door. The video conference connection is established quickly.

The communication tech seeming slightly bored, asks for Gillian's badge and station number. She punches that into a second computer and then asks Gillian her reason for contacting headquarters.

"We have a missing agent."

"What happened?"

Gillian is unsure how to answer, but settles on the simplest explanation.

"Kidnapped."

"Name?"

"Agent Charles McNeil."

The tech punches that into her computer as well.

There's a beep from the woman's terminal. Her bored demeanor quickly evaporates as Gillian sees her lean forward, her eyes scanning the words on her monitor.

"Please hold, Agent Henderson." Her voice is suddenly businesslike, terse.

The screen changes to the NSA seal.

After a minute or so, the comm tech comes back online. "Agent Henderson, please hold for General Beckman."

"Wait! What—"

Gillian's protest is cut off mid-sentence as the image of the head of the whole NSA pops onto the screen.

With nary a preamble, the irascible looking, red-haired woman barks out, "What the hell happened up there, Agent Henderson? Are you telling me that you let Charles McNeil be kidnaped from right under your collective noses?"

Gillian gulps. "Ma'am, I have to apologize for my earlier word choice. I wasn't sure how to exactly explain what happened, so I settled on kidnapping."

Gillian can tell that Beckman's trying to rein in her temper. "You settled on kidnapping? Was he taken or not? I would appreciate some clarification here, agent."

"Yes, Ma'am, I understand. Chu…Agent McNeil wasn't really taken. He left voluntarily."

"Voluntarily? By himself?"

"No, Ma'am. There were two other people."

Beckman shakes her head. "Perhaps you should explain from the beginning. Briefly."

"Yes, Ma'am. Agent McNeil called in sick this morning, around 0800. I decided to check on him. When I arrived at his place, I noticed some suspicious movement inside, so I went in with my pistol drawn. When I got to his room…"

Her voice tapers off as she visualizes the scene in Chuck's bedroom once again. And it suddenly comes to her. General Diane Beckman is, of course, the "her" that Sarah Walker had referred to. The "her" that's behind whatever terrible things had been done to Chuck. Good, kind, lovable Chuck had been damaged in some way by this cruel woman waiting impatiently for Gillian to continue with her report.

Right then and there, Gillian Henderson decides she doesn't particularly like Diane Beckman. And that she really doesn't deserve the truth. At least not the whole truth. Truth, Gillian is quite certain, which would only be used to hurt Chuck in some way once again.

 _Screw you, General._

"Spit it out, agent!"

"Sorry, Ma'am. In his room, there were three people. I recognized Major Casey from Fort Meade. A blonde woman that I didn't know, was later identified as Agent Sarah Walker. It appeared that Agent McNeil knew both of them. In any case, they were helping him pack, preparing to leave with him."

"Did you try to stop them?"

"Yes, Ma'am. But I was disarmed by Agent Walker. Restrained in a chair."

"What did you overhear?"

"They didn't say much, Ma'am, just packed up quickly. Agent McNeil did seem willing to go with them, although I'm uncertain why."

"Did they say anything at all to you directly?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Just one thing. Agent Walker told me to, and I quote, 'Tell her that Sarah Walker and John Casey were here, and that they're not done with her yet.' I'm not sure who or what she meant, Ma'am."

As the words hit home, Gillian watches, smiling inwardly, as the General visibly blanches. Having been on the receiving end of Sarah Walker's terrifying intensity, Gillian almost feels sorry for her boss.

Almost.

It takes a few seconds for the General to regain her composure enough to speak.

"Thank you, Agent Henderson. I'll expect a full written report by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Ma'am."

A hand reaches into view, gives a note to the General. After reading it, she comments, "I was just informed that all the traffic camera data for your area has been erased. For the past twelve hours."

 _Good job, Chuck._ "Yes. Ma'am?"

"In light of this, did you happen to notice what type of vehicle they might have used?"

Gillian recalls every detail of black car she'd seen out front, plate number included, but replies, "No, Ma'am."

"You're sure?"

"Yes—hold on. There was a white panel van parked halfway down the block. It may have had out of state plates. Not sure, Ma'am."

The General sighs, "Alright. If you recall anything further, please include it in your report. That'll be all for now, Agent Henderson. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, ma'am."

The screen goes back to the NSA seal.

Gillian stares at it for a few seconds, then wearily opens up a word processor, starts to type up her report.

 _Might as well get it done now. That way I can keep all the lies straight._

But then she stops, her discussion with Beckman abruptly bringing back to her mind the exchange she'd witnessed between Chuck and Sarah this morning. The way the woman had transformed, almost in the proverbial blink of an eye, from killer to...what? What was the opposite of killer? Gillian couldn't come up with anything that fit, but whatever, whoever Sarah had become, it had been an amazing thing to see.

Recognizing what being with Chuck had done for a woman like Sarah Walker makes Gillian realize that, even if it had worked out, he would have, in some senses, been wasted on someone like herself. Sure, she has her share of foibles, hang ups and emotional burdens. Who doesn't? But it's a pretty safe assumption that, compared to the baggage that Agent Walker must carry with her, Gillian is the poster girl for normalcy.

That Chuck had somehow gotten through to Sarah, past her barriers, just shows how truly extraordinary he must be. Leaving such gifts under-utilized, using them solely for a normal girl, a normal relationship, would've been a tragedy of the highest order.

Unselfishly, Gillian realizes that Sarah needed him much more than she ever would.

She closes her eyes, sending her thoughts out into the cosmos.

 _Chuck, I hope you and Sarah find the happiness you deserve._

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N:What's going to happen to Chuck? To Beckman? Tune in next time._

 _Thank you for reading along._


	9. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Eight

_A/N: We'll call this chapter an interlude before the reckoning._

 _It's a week later than I planned. Was absolutely stymied by one section._

 _A section that my beta, michaelfmx, suggested, quite correctly, needed to be…intensified._

 _I thank him for that. (But you can blame him for the delay!)_

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC**

 **Chapter 8**

As soon as the three-way hug breaks up, the questions start flying, Morgan and Devon verbally tripping over each other.

"Where have you…"

"What happened to…"

"How did they…"

Ellie intervenes. "Guys! Guys! Let's go into the living room, sit down and let Chuck tell his story."

Chuck gravitates towards the love seat and sits. Sarah is a few steps behind, as she'd gone over to retrieve Ed from Casey's care. Before she's able to join her...fiancé, Morgan plunks himself down, obviously eager to be near his best friend. Sarah, smiling tolerantly, starts towards the couch, but is stopped by a word from Chuck.

"Sarah," he gestures to the position currently occupied by Morgan, "sit here, please."

"It's OK, Chuck. I'll sit on the couch."

"No. Morgan's going to move. Right, buddy?"

The man in question looks back and forth between the two of them, uncomprehending. "Why would I need to move?" But then the light goes on.

A wondrous expression crosses his face. "Chuck, are you two finally..."

He nods and smiles. "Yeah, Morg. We are."

Morgan grins back at him, then stands quickly. "Then, of course, Sarah's gonna sit right beside you." He looks her way. "It's a position of honor. You know that, right?"

She answers solemnly, "Yes, I know. Thank you, Morgan."

She sits down, cradling Ed in her lap. Chuck puts his arm around her shoulders.

Ellie sits beside her husband on the couch, Morgan on the other side. Casey sinks into a comfortable looking armchair.

Devon asks, looking puzzled, "Am I missing something here?"

Ellie, without taking her eyes off of the couple in front of her, answers, a smile in her voice, "Yes. It seems that Chuck and Sarah are engaged."

His response is loud, enthusiastic. "Awesome! Congratulations, you two. Sure took you long enough to sort things out."

"Devon! Don't embarrass them."

Chuck replies, laughingly, "It's OK, sis. Sarah's told me enough that I know we danced around the issue for quite a while."

Ellie picks up on that. "She had to tell you? You don't remember?"

He shakes his head. "Not very much. I do remember all of you now. The fundamentals, anyway. Your names. Our relationships. I can _feel_ how much I care for you, how important each of you is to me, but most of the details of _why_ I care for you are gone."

Morgan jumps in. "Do you have amnesia, Chuck? Is that what happened? You were kidnapped from the hospital by the bad guys and while escaping you got a knock on the head and have been wandering around the country, living on the streets, homeless and friendless? Using the Intersect to solve crimes and help people get back together while not having any idea who you really are?"

"Shh! Morgan, let the man talk!"

"Sorry, Ellie." He hangs his head a little.

Chuck grins. "It's OK, Morg. It would make a decent comic book plot."

Morgan, raising his head, replies, "You're right. I'll have to write that one down."

Ellie shakes her head, returns her attention to her brother. "So, do you know what really happened, Chuck?"

He nods, serious once again, knowing full well that not one of them, but especially Ellie, is going to like what he has to tell them. He hesitates, unsure where exactly to start. But then he feels Sarah squeeze his hand. He turns his head, sees her reassuring smile.

"Perhaps you could start with Casper?"

Morgan blurts out, "Like the Friendly Ghost?"

Grinning, Chuck replies, "No, buddy. Like the city in Wyoming."

"Wyoming? Why is that important?" asks Devon.

"It's important because that's where I've been living for the last year or so, believing that I was a man named Charles Carmichael. A man who had no family." He looks around at the group.

"A man who remembered none of you."

He pauses for a few seconds, before quietly adding, "Not even Ellie, or Sarah…" Abruptly, the immensity of what had actually been taken from him hits home. Hard. His throat tightens and he's unable to go on, his eyes stinging with sudden, angry tears.

He feels Sarah's cool hand on his cheek, gently turning his face toward hers.

She leans in, gives him a quick, soft kiss. Then with her eyes only a few inches from his, she whispers, "Hey, Chuck. Don't worry. We're here now. All of us. And we're not going anywhere. We're gonna fix this, and I'll be with you every step of the way. OK?"

He nods, clears his throat. "Yeah. I know you will. Sorry I got all emotional there."

Her hand still on his cheek, she smiles, bumps her forehead lightly against his. "Nothing to be sorry for, Chuck."

Ellie, witnessing Sarah's emotional, tender response, has to blink back her own tears. Her first instinct had been to rush to her brother's side, to comfort and console him. A responsibility she'd unwillingly taken on at first, obligated by the abdication of those who'd should've been there, not just for him, but her as well. But, as time had passed, she'd not only accepted that role, but had grown to treasure it. A part of what made the two of them so close.

One thing, though, had often made her wonder. Was Chuck's brunette proclivity partially due to that part she'd played in his life? Not in any creepy, weird way, but just that he had the tendency to drift towards women with that hair color, seeking, in some non-sisterly way, the kind of comfort she'd given him.

However, even if she accepted that there had been, at some point, a measure of truth in that supposition, it's quite obvious that it isn't his preference anymore. Clearly, the torch has been passed to the blonde woman sitting so close at his side, holding his hand so tightly.

Right from the start, Ellie had suspected that, behind the defensive rampart Sarah had methodically constructed, there lay a deeply compassionate, empathetic woman. Those suspicions had been confirmed the morning the two of them had their frank discussion, when Sarah had openly revealed her fears over whether Chuck would be able to accept the life she'd led before meeting him.

But Sarah's confession had also made it abundantly clear that her life had allowed her scant opportunity to exercise those gentler traits. And that she was just as apprehensive about being able to rise above her past and become the person she needed to become, for him, certainly, but more importantly, for herself.

And yet here she is. Obviously unafraid to display her deep love for the man beside her. Putting all her heart and soul into comforting him, with no care over who witnesses it.

Ellie should've realized sooner that the small dog in her lap was a clue as to the progress she'd made. Agent Walker would've never wasted her time and energy on a pet. But it's been easy to see that Sarah adores the little creature, and judging by the looks he's constantly giving her, it's clear to see the feeling is mutual.

Plainly, she's found her way.

No one says anything for a minute or so, all affected by the touching scene that played out before them.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. "Chuck, I'm not sure I understand. You tell us that you thought you were Charles Carmichael. That's something we'd been told, that after the procedure to remove the Intersect there was some confusion in your mind about your identity. When you woke up, were you unsure who you were?"

Tearing his gaze away from Sarah, he shakes his head. "No. They lied to you. There never was any confusion. Right from the first moment I woke up, I _was_ Charles Carmichael. Never, ever doubted it. Not until today, anyway." He looks affectionately at Sarah. "Not until a certain incredible woman came and sat across the table from me." He smiles. "For some strange reason, her doing so triggered a bunch of memories and feelings. Really good ones."

She smiles back.

Ellie continues, "But how, Chuck? I was involved in formulating the procedure. I just can't see how that could've happened accidentally."

Sarah replies, her voice tightly controlled, her happiness abruptly pushed aside by anger. "It wasn't an accident, Ellie."

"What are you saying? That it was done on purpose? Why on earth would someone—"

Ellie stops herself, comprehension dawning. Urgently she asks, "Chuck, do you have the Intersect again?"

"Yes."

"Were you using it up in Casper?'

He nods, waits for his sister to put the pieces together. It only takes a second or two.

Ellie leaps to her feet, fury etched into her features. "That bitch! I'm gonna kill her!"

Devon and Morgan clearly have no clue what's going on. Casey, while knowing the basics, hasn't heard the details, so leans forward, paying close attention.

"Who, babe?"

"Why would you want to kill someone?"

Ellie ignores them. "I'm gonna get down on my knees so we're at the same level when I strangle her! Just so I can see her face when I do it!"

Devon stands, grabs his wife's hand. "Babe, calm down! Who are you talking about?"

Ellie spits out, "Freaking General Diane Beckman! That's who!"

Morgan stands up. "Whoa, Ellie! What did she do?"

Exasperated, she looks at the two men. "Can't you see? She did this to Chuck, made us believe he was dead, all so she could have her precious Intersect again."

Devon shakes his head. "I don't follow."

The brown haired doctor takes a couple of deep breaths, then speaks a little more calmly. "OK. Remember how that damn thing almost killed Chuck?"

Both men nod.

"And that when we took him to D.C., it was agreed, reluctantly on Beckman's part, that the Human Intersect Program was going to be ended? That Chuck would never be subjected to that thing being stuck in his brain again?"

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"Well, she still wanted it, but knew that they couldn't simply force it into him again. It wouldn't work without his cooperation. Considering that it'd almost killed him, she knew he wasn't about to grant her that."

She looks at her brother. "Chuck, please feel free to jump in if I get anything wrong."

"You're doing fine, sis. Run with it."

She does, her anger cooling somewhat as she speaks. "OK. She also knew we'd come after her if she tried. Legally," she glances at Sarah and Casey, "or by using other, perhaps more…forceful methods. Either way, it wasn't a chance she was about to take."

Devon nods, thoughtful. "So you're saying that she somehow made Chuck believe he was Charles?"

"Yes."

Morgan goes on. "So by doing that, Chu—Charles would be more cooperative. Why?"

"I expect Chuck will have to answer that." All eyes turn to him.

"Ellie's right. As I told you, I really believed that I was Charles Carmichael. There was, is, this whole history in my brain. Where I grew up, how I went to MIT, that I was an only child, orphaned at nineteen." He pauses. "You're gonna like this. I believed that I was the one who created the Intersect in the first place."

"What?!"

"You've gotta be kidding me!"

There's a grunt from Casey.

"To make a long story short, I believed that I wanted to download it because my creation had trashed the minds of a number of volunteers. That this was my way of doing penance for what had happened to them. And, of course, that I'd discovered that I was the only one who had the right kind of brain architecture to take it on."

Ellie nods. "She worked on the guilt angle."

Casey asks, "How did she explain you waking up in the hospital?"

"I was informed that I'd overworked myself trying to fix the flaws in the program and had suffered a severe mental and physical breakdown, and that, as a result of this, I might have gaps in my memory, both long and short term."

Casey nods. "Clever."

"It _seemed_ she was right because I didn't remember any of what had supposedly happened just before I broke down, including that I'd told her the Intersect was fixed and ready to go again."

He chuckles, ruefully.

"What so funny?" asks Morgan.

"You know, I do remember that she actually tried, or rather, pretended to try to talk me out of it. Told me I was too valuable. That I was the one who insisted in the end. So, in some ways, you might say this is my own doing."

With fire in her eyes, Sarah reprimands him, "Damnit, Chuck! How _dare_ you think that any part of this is your fault! There's only one person to blame here, and it's certainly not you!"

"But, Sarah, maybe I—"

She's fierce, vehement. "No! Not this time, Chuck. Sometimes, you're too willing to let people off the hook. I should know, you've done it often enough for me. But not Beckman. Not after what she did. Don't even _think_ about it."

He looks to Ellie, hoping for some moral support, but only sees her nod her head in agreement, approval for Sarah's fiery reproof in her eyes.

Still, he tries once more. "But…"

His voice tapers off as Sarah raises one eyebrow and gives him a stern, "I'm-not-listening-to-any-more-nonsense" expression.

He gulps. "OK. You're right. Not my fault. Beckman's."

She pats him on the cheek. "Good. Don't ever forget that."

He nods. "I'll try…I won't."

Sarah, suddenly realizing that everyone had just witnessed her little tirade, looks around, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so harsh. It's just that…"

Ellie replies, quite firmly. "Don't worry about it, Sarah. My little brother needs a good kick in the pants from time to time."

Morgan nods sagely. "She's right, Chuck, you do."

There are a few gentle chuckles before Devon asks, "What happened next?"

Dragging his mind back to the story, Chuck replies, "Beckman told me security at the hospital had been compromised, so I would have to go elsewhere to have the download done. That night, if I had to guess, not too long before you were told there was a problem, two men moved me out of the hospital. Very quickly and very efficiently. Didn't see any of the staff and the cameras in the hallways appeared to be out."

Casey nods. "That's why no one knew you weren't in your room."

"But why Casper?" Morgan puzzles.

"She told me that my psych profile required me to live a relatively normal life in order for the Intersect to function properly, which, by the way, I strongly feel _is_ and _was_ true." He looks at Sarah, inquiringly. She nods. "I would run an ISP there, which was real but, behind the scenes was an NSA listening post. Far enough away from the mainstream so no one would suspect anything."

Ellie growls, "And remote enough to almost guarantee that none of us would run across you by accident."

"Yes, I'm sure that was the main reason. She knew the deception wouldn't hold up very long if I started running into people from my real past." He stops himself, looks at the big man sitting in the armchair. "Sorry, Casey. I did feel something when you found me the first time, but I guess it wasn't quite enough to trigger anything."

Ellie catches it. "John Casey, did you know where he was before today?"

The man in question glares at Chuck, growls, "Thanks a lot, Bartowski."

He turns to Ellie. "Yes, I did. Right after the last time I visited you in Burbank, I drove up to Casper. I was working on a hunch that he might be there. When I found him, he didn't recognize me. I knew he wasn't about to go off with a stranger, so I realized I needed to find Walker and take her to him. If that didn't work, I figured nothing would."

Sarah jumps in. "Ellie, I'd gone into seclusion. It took Casey a lot of time and effort to find me. He used resources that, despite his working under the radar, will eventually lead back to him, and probably cause him some grief down the road."

Ellie walks over, stands in front of the NSA agent, and looks down at him. "Let me see if I have this straight. On a hunch, you flew across the country. Then drove over a thousand miles, on the off chance that you might find my brother. Once you did find him, you scoured the country, trying to find Sarah, with the hope, just a hope, mind you, that she might be able to jog his memory. Then, when it did work, you and Sarah immediately brought him here, back to us. And you did all of this, knowing the whole time that it could cause a lot of trouble for you.

"Does that sound about right?"

Casey nods, then replies, sounding apologetic, "Sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I wasn't—"

Ellie cuts him off. "Stand up."

He does so, slowly and reluctantly.

"John, I should be angry with you for not telling me right away that you'd found Chuck. But I'm not going to. Do you know why?"

He just shakes his head.

"Because you did this unselfishly for him, for us. For me and for Sarah. You went far, _far_ out of your way to make sure you were bringing _Chuck_ back to us, not some stranger named Charles Carmichael." She looks up into his eyes, hers shining. "I'll never be able to repay you for what you've done, but I want you to know that, no matter where life takes us, you will always have a very special place in my heart. I will never, ever forget this. Thank you, John, so very much."

Chuck sees the man swallow heavily, is almost certain that he see's the beginning of tears at the corners of his eyes. It seems he has trouble speaking, for it takes a few seconds before he mumbles a quiet, "You're welcome."

Ellie nods as she swipes away her own tears. "I'm gonna hug you now if that's OK?"

Casey looks hesitant for a second, then replies, "Alright. I guess."

Ellie steps in close, wraps her arms around the big man's torso, her head on his chest. For a few seconds, he just stands there, arms awkwardly hanging down by his side. But then, after shooting a brief I'll-get-you-later scowl Chuck's way, he tentatively returns Ellie's hug, so gently that it seems he's afraid he might break her.

Sarah leans in close, chuckling quietly as she whispers in Chuck's ear, "It appears the Bartowski charm has claimed another victim. One more hardened agent reduced to mush, a shadow of his former self."

Still watching the two, he whispers out of the side of his mouth. "I know. Man, can you imagine what would've happened if she'd ever gotten loose at Langley? Fulcrum should just have recruited her instead of constantly chasing after the Intersect. If they had, the American intelligence community would've been destroyed from the inside, reduced to an ineffective, blubbering mass."

She laughs softly. "She's not the only Bartowski who's got that power."

He turns his head to look at her, points at himself and quietly asks, "Are you saying that I, Chuck Bartowski, turned you, Agent Walker, into mush?"

She nods happily.

"Have I ever told you how much I like mush, Sarah?"

She shakes her head.

"Yep. Seemed to have developed a real appetite for it."

She smiles, bringing her lips closer to his, murmurs, "That's good, because it's going to be a steady part of your diet from now on."

He leans in closer, closes his eyes—

Ellie's voice breaks into their little tête-à-tête. "Hey, lovebirds! We're done over here, just in case you hadn't noticed."

They both look her way, chagrined.

Trying to sound upset, but betrayed by her smile, Ellie asks Casey, "John, were they like this on the way down?"

He grunts. Scowls. "Worse."

The others laugh, while the two of them can only duck their heads.

"Sorry, guys. Couldn't resist."

"It's OK, sis. I freely admit that I find Sarah very, very distracting. So much so that, a while ago, I wasn't even sure what state I was in." He looks at the woman beside him, then says, "You remember, Sarah?" He gives her a little of the Bartowski eyebrow dance. "When we were in the backseat of Casey's car."

Her cheeks reddening, Sarah lets out an embarrassed, "Chuck!"

Devon booms out, "Way to go, Chuckster!"

The doctor shakes her head, marveling at the sight of the woman blushing like a schoolgirl at Chuck's gentle teasing.

It's hard to believe that this is the same woman who'd been coerced into a life that, by all rights, should've stripped any semblance of humanity from her long ago, leaving nothing but a coldly beautiful, unfeeling, empty shell behind.

That she'd managed to avoid becoming that hollow imitation of a real person can only be attributed to the fact that she'd somehow found a way, with a strength that defies the doctor's imagination, to protect the core of who she truly was. Even though it'd been buried under so many layers and for such a long time, it's now clear to Ellie that it'd never totally disappeared, although it's very likely that its voice had become fainter and less frequently heard as the years passed.

But she's also certain that this voice would've been muted forever if Chuck hadn't come into her life when he did. Ellie hadn't been blind to the changes Sarah had gone through since her arrival in Burbank, and although he would probably disagree, she knows that Chuck was the catalyst behind them. He'd shown Sarah, both by word and deed, that, within her, there existed a woman who not only _could_ love, but also one who was worthy of _being_ loved.

Ellie's thoughts are interrupted by the sight of Chuck's cheeky grin in response to Sarah's baleful glare.

"You don't have to worry, Sarah. I know exactly what state I'm in now."

"Oh? And what state might that be, Mr. Bartowski?"

"The state of bliss."

There's a chorus of groans in the room.

Sarah's expression softens, even as she tries to keep her voice stern. "Well, if you plan on taking up permanent residence there, Mr. Bartowski, I strongly suggest you keep our private lives private in the future. You got that?"

"Gotcha." He turns to the group. "Before any of you get the wrong idea," he looks at Devon for a moment, "nothing x-rated went on. Just some kissing and…stuff."

Sighing, Sarah just shakes her head.

To spare her future sister-in-law any more embarrassment, Ellie decides to try and get the conversation back on track.

"OK, Chuck, I think we have a basic understanding of what was done to you. The question is, what do we do about it?"

Sarah replies, "Ellie, aside from reuniting everyone, that's why we came to you. We obviously can't use any government resources or personnel, so we hoped that you could tell us what you need in order to find a way to undo what Beckman did to him."

Ellie thinks for a moment. "I brought my laptop with me. It has all of Dad's research and all the work I contributed to the procedure we designed to remove the Intersect. I've got some ideas, but I'll need a powerful workstation to explore and try them out."

Chuck nods toward the computer he'd noticed upon coming into the room. "How about that one? Would it be enough?"

"You tell me, Chuck. You're the one who set it up in the first place."

"What?"

"When the three of you," she gestures inclusively towards Sarah and Casey, "decided that we might need a safe house at some point, you're the one who took care of the technology. And the games and comic books as well." She frowns. "Which, by the way, Morgan has seen fit to complain about."

The man in question jumps in, "They're two years old, Chuck!"

"Sorry about that, buddy." He pauses. "I suppose that means the computer is that old too?"

Casey nods. "We haven't been back here since we set things up."

Chuck looks around. "It must have been awfully dusty in here."

Ellie replies, sounding disgusted, "Tell me about it. There were covers on the furniture, but it took the three of us half a day to clean things up."

Chuck, noticing the looks that pass between Devon and Morgan, has a sneaking suspicion that he was lucky to have missed Ellie in cleaning mode.

"OK, I'll check things out. If I planned ahead, I may have over-specced the thing in the first place. Anything else you'll need, Ellie?"

She nods. "Yes, EEG equipment and the like. Stuff I can hook up to the computer. I'll need to measure your brainwaves."

He shrinks back a little. "Are there any needles involved?"

She smiles. "No, Chuck. No needles."

Sarah asks, "Where could you get that from?"

"Las Vegas is only a couple of hours down the road. There'll be places there, I'm sure."

"How much will you need?"

Ellie hesitates. "For what I need, I'm thinking at least ten, fifteen grand. Maybe more. I know that's a lot—"

"Done. I'll cover it."

Chuck, shocked by the number, asks, "Where would you get that kind of money, Sarah? Do you have some kind of spy slush fund?"

"No."

He waits for her to expand upon her terse reply, but after a few seconds pass with nothing further being added, he stands and, with a growing certainty in his mind, asks, "Sarah, may I speak with you in the kitchen for a moment?"

After gently placing Ed in the now vacated space beside her, she takes his offered hand, rises from the love seat. They walk into the kitchen.

…

He faces her. "Where _is_ the money coming from, Sarah?"

She doesn't answer for a few seconds, knowing how he'll likely react. "My savings."

He shakes his head, vigorously. "No, Sarah, I can't let you do that. After all the crap you had to go through to earn—"

She interjects, quite forcefully, "Chuck, stop." He does so, closing his mouth with an audible snap.

"I'm gonna cut you some slack on this subject. Once. Am I clear?'

He nods.

"First of all, I hope it won't be very long before it'll be _our_ money. But even if that wasn't the case, I'd spend whatever is needed, every penny I have, if it would help you get better."

"But—"

She cuts him off again, sharply. "No, Chuck. No buts. It's already decided. Don't bring it up again."

She can see he's hurt by her peremptory abruptness, so softens her voice and squeezes his hand before she continues.

"Chuck, please forgive me for sounding so harsh. I'm not upset with you. It's just that when it comes to you I have no tolerance for half measures. None."

Sarah can hear her voice rising, her wrath building once more as she thinks of the woman whose callous actions had created the need for him to _be_ fixed in the first place. She closes her eyes, and, just for a moment, she almost believes she can feel her hands wrapped around Beckman's throat. Squeezing.

The image is so powerful, that she actually feels her hands start to shake.

Lest he misinterprets her mounting rage as being directed toward him, she firmly pushes the picture from her mind and takes a couple of deep breaths, bringing herself back under control.

She opens her eyes, then says, almost pleading, "Chuck, you have to understand. There's nothing in this world that's more precious to me than you. _Nothing_."

He gapes at her, taken aback by her remarkably candid admission. Sure, he knows she loves him. Her words and actions on the long trip down here had left him in no doubt of that.

But this…this adoration, is somehow of another level entirely. It carries with it the sense, no, the _conviction_ that, as far as she is concerned, he's utterly irreplaceable. Of a value beyond measure.

Despite the glowing warmth this brings to his heart, his first thought is that he couldn't possibly be worthy of such absolute devotion. Truth be told, it frightens him a little to think that he could mean that much to any human being, let alone someone as remarkable as this woman standing so close, looking up into his eyes.

"Sarah, I'm not—"

"No. Don't say it. Please don't devalue yourself." She pauses. "I know that you can't fully understand this right now, but until I met you, I'd been living in darkness." She shakes her head. "No, that's not quite right."

She looks away.

"I _was_ darkness." Her voice is harsh, full of regrets. "Nightfall, the end of day for far too many people, for far too long.

His heart breaking, his instinct is to stop her, brush away her self-recriminations. But he checks himself, knowing she needs to get this off her chest.

She brings her eyes back to his, a solitary tear tracking down each cheek. "But you, Chuck, were light, my polar opposite, the yang to my yin. I saw it, knew it the first time we met. But I was afraid, just as the night fears the dawn. So I resisted, refused to recognize the power of your…luminosity. But it was futile, like trying to stop the sun from rising. Little by little, you pushed away the blackness enough that I could see that I possessed substance, that I was more than a mere shadow.'

She moves in close, rest her hands on his chest. "Chuck, you showed me that it was alright to let people see who I was. That it was OK to love and let myself be loved. When I was around you, I allowed myself to be happy, something I'd never really felt I deserved.

"It was all you, Chuck. No one had ever done what you did for me. And no one else could have been the one to bring me into the light." She pauses, clutches at his shirt as she earnestly asks, "Do you get it now?"

He nods, unable to speak, his throat tight.

"But then you were gone and my life slipped back into the gloom. The darkness could have easily enveloped me again it hadn't been for Ed and…Chase. And Casey finding you."

"But now you're here, and I'm so happy that I have to fight this almost constant urge to smile and giggle like an idiot every time I'm near you." She pauses, frowning. "What's the old saying? Giddy as a schoolgirl? I don't do giddy. Nor do I swoon, but how else do I explain the way I feel every time you touch me, kiss me?"

She sighs, sounding mildly disgusted with herself. "You've turned me into a giddy swooner, Chuck."

At another time, her grudging confession would be amusing, but not now, not in the midst of her baring her soul.

And especially not now, not when he sees a shadow pass across her face. She stiffens, her hands suddenly balling themselves into fists.

"But then, when I see you try to hide your confusion with a smile, or your fear with a laugh, I'm reminded again of what she did to you. Once more confronted by the cruelty of a person who never gives any thought to the human toll of her actions.

"And I become so…so angry that I just want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both. I don't know." She shakes her head.

Her eyes search his face, seemingly desperate for him to understand. "Does any of this make sense to you, Chuck?"

He pulls her gently into his embrace. Tenderly kisses her forehead. "Yes, Sarah, it does. It makes perfect sense."

He looks down into her eyes. "I feel the same way. Like I'm being pulled in two different directions at once. On the one hand, I can't even begin to describe how happy I am, and yet…"

She looks up at him. "You're angry, but mostly you're afraid that you'll never get back all that they've taken from you."

"Terrified would be a much better word." He clings to her a little tighter, his voice betraying his desperation. "Sarah, what if I never remember the first time I saw you? The first time I touched you? The first time we kissed? The first time I told you I loved you? What if all of that's gone? Forever?"

She's firm in her reply. "Chuck, listen to me. _If_ that happens, we'll start anew. This morning at the Clandra's will become our 'first'."

"Sarah, how could I ask you to do that? To throw away our past and be with a man who's only half of what he was?"

And then it hits her. His fear runs much deeper than simply not remembering.

Softly, she asks, "Chuck, are you worried that I'll leave if you don't get your memories back?"

He flushes, his silence speaking for him.

She places her hand on his cheek, quietly, but earnestly asks, "Chuck, do you remember what I promised you this morning? That the only way I'm ever leaving is if you tell me to go?"

He shakes his head, fervently replies, "That'll never happen, Sarah. Never. I promise."

"I believe you. You've always kept your word, even when it's been to your detriment." She lays her hand on his chest. "And right here, in your heart, you believe that I also keep my promises, don't you?"

He looks into her eyes for a few moments. "Yes, Sarah, I believe you do." He pauses. "I _know_ you do."

She tilts her head to one side, looks up at him, gently asks, "Then what are you worried about?"

He looks into her eyes for a couple of seconds, then shakes his head. "You're right. I was foolish."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You were just thinking of me. As you always do."

She grins, a small one in an attempt to relieve the tension. "Which, Chuck Bartowski, is just one of the many things I love about you."

He smiles, for the first time in a while. "Maybe one day you can tell me about the other things?"

"I will. Soon. If it's needed. But for now, let's put that aside and concentrate on the _real_ issues that we're going to have to deal with. OK?"

"OK." But then his smile fades.

"Chuck, you're still thinking about the money, aren't you?"

Obviously embarrassed, he nods, "Sorry."

She fights off exasperation. "Chuck, let me make this simple for you. If the situation was reversed, if I was the one in your condition, what would you do?"

His reply is immediate, impassioned. "Everything. Anything. I wouldn't let anything or anyone get in my way. I'd beg, borrow, even steal if that's what it took to help you. I would spend…"

His voice tapers off. She says nothing, just looks at him, waiting.

"Oh!"

Pause.

" _Oh!_ "

"You understand now, Chuck?"

He smacks himself in the forehead. "Idiot!"

Ruefully, he asks, "Sarah, are you sure, _really_ sure, that you want to be with someone who could be so thick-headed?"

She deadpans. "Yeah, you are a little dense sometimes, but, on balance, you've got enough good qualities that I figured, what the hell? I might as well give it a shot."

He chuckles briefly, then becomes serious once more. "Sarah, I really am sorry."

"I know, Chuck. Just remember that it's not you and me from now on. It's us. We. Together."

He nods, firmly. "Got it."

"Good. Now, before we go back out there and start brainstorming, I need you to kiss me. That alright with you?"

He pretends to mull it over. She's just about to smack him when he brings his head closer and their lips meet.

She pours every bit of reassurance, confidence and comfort she possesses into it, hoping he'll pick up on it, use this moment to help carry him forward.

It seems it's working, for he pulls her even closer—

From the hallway, Devon's booming voice makes them start, pull apart.

"Hey, I'm coming into the kitchen. You two decent in there or should I give you a couple of minutes?"

From the living room, they both hear Ellie's shocked, "Devon! Get back here!" They hear his footsteps recede.

Chuck shakes his head. "Is he always like that?"

Sarah grins. "Pretty much."

Grinning back, he replies, "I guess we should rejoin them. You know, before even the ones without his particular mindset start to get any ideas."

"Good idea, sweetie."

He frowns. "Sarah, that's the second time you've called me that. Is that the pet name you've decided on? If that was your plan, I just wanted you to know that I'm not too keen on it."

"Why, Chuck?" she asks, sounding innocent.

"Because I'm pretty sure I heard you also call Ed that. Am I right?"

She smiles, enigmatically. Doesn't deny it.

He tries to sound offended, stern, but knows he's utterly unconvincing. "Sarah, I am not an animal. I am a human being. I deserve my own term of endearment. I refuse to share my pet name with a dog, no matter how cute and cuddly he is. Do you hear me?"

He drops her hand, crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm not holding hands with you again until you apologize. You got that?"

She says nothing, simply holds out her hand. Seemingly of its own volition, his hand goes out, joins itself to hers.

"OK, but I'm not budging from this spot until we resolve this matter."

She gives him gentle tug. His feet start moving, following her into the hallway.

"Alright, I'll give you that, but I'm not kissing you until—"

His voice is suddenly stilled.

…

 **Washington D.C. Two days later.**

"Are you telling me that there's no trace of them? None at all?"

Sweating a little, the man replies. "No, Ma'am. There's a chance that Major Casey's group is somewhere in Colorado or Utah, but that's pretty sketchy. Just based on a few sightings of a vehicle that _might_ be his."

General Beckman reins in her frustration. "Alright. For now. How about the other group? The Woodcombs and Grimes?"

"We investigated, Ma'am. All three failed to show up for work four days ago. No one seems to know what happened to them. Neither at the hospital or the Buy More. We did find Woodcomb's car at a large mall in Glendale. It was abandoned. It appears they changed vehicles there."

"Weren't you able to track them using the video cameras in the parking lot?"

"No. Ma'am. It's an old surveillance system. Many of the cameras don't work well, especially at night. We also discovered that the security office only keeps records for two days. To make matters worse, it's estimated that somewhere between 600 and 800 vehicles use the lot each day."

"Do you think they were aware of all that?"

"Can't be certain, Ma'am, but it's possible."

"So, that's a dead end as well?"

"Yes, Ma'am.

Beckman bites off a curse. Dismisses her subordinate.

She's been a step, no, _two_ steps behind the whole time. Not only had they somehow found Bartowski and extracted him, they'd also made sure that no one Beckman could possibly use for leverage was left behind.

Over the last couple of days, Diane has come to know just how deftly Casey had played her. Surprising for a man who isn't exactly known for his subtlety. There'd been just enough truth in his request for time off that she hadn't had any suspicions. After all, the man would have to retire someday. And it was natural he would want to connect with Walker again.

She'd nonetheless, more out of curiosity than anything else, requested that the appropriate department inform her as to his location when he requested access to NSA resources. When she'd seen he'd never gotten anywhere near Bartowski's location, she'd relaxed and told the department head she no longer needed to be informed of the Major's whereabouts. Which had seemed to be a serious error on her part, until recent evidence indicated that he'd been spoofing his location all along.

They'd analyzed the satellite photos the Major had requested of an area in central Colorado. They'd found one which _may_ have been of Agent Walker beside some cabin in the back end of nowhere. Diane has sent a team to investigate, but has little confidence it will lead anywhere. It's not as if they're going to find a crumpled note with an address or a map with an "X" marking the spot.

No, Walker and Casey are very, very good at what they do. The General knows she'll not hear anything of them until they chose to make their presence known again.

Diane opens a drawer in her desk, takes out a bottle of Scotch and a glass, then pours herself a few fingers. As she brings the glass to her mouth, she notices her hand is shaking. She wills it to stop.

It doesn't.

Using both hands to steady the glass, she manages to take a few sips. It helps. A little.

She knows her actions have made an implacable foe of Sarah Walker. There's not going to be any negotiations or appeasement going forward.

No. Nothing but retribution.

But Diane Beckman will not cower in fear or hide herself away. If she has to go down, it'll be with her head held high, unashamed of the actions she took to protect the country she loves.

Yes, she'll increase her security. Take whatever prudent measures she can. But in the end, it won't really matter all that much.

If Agent Walker wants to get to her, she will.

So, basically, all General Diane Beckman can do now is wait.

Not for long, of course. Just until _she_ decides how and when.

Or maybe she'll draw it out longer, just to make it more torturous.

Either way, it's only a matter of time before the piper arrives, demanding payment.

 **TBC**

—

A/N: A confrontation takes center stage in the next chapter. The final one of this story.

Thank you for reading along. Please let me know what you think.


	10. Never Was-Third Arc Chapter Nine

_A/N: We've reached the end—except for an epilogue. This is a big one._

 _Conversations are held. Matters are resolved._

 _Thanks to my beta Michaelfmx for his stalwart beta services. Thanks, as well, to Grayroc and Zettel for their insightful suggestions._

 _Don't own Chuck et al._

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC**

 **Chapter 9**

Until she saw Sarah Walker coming out of a grocery store in St. George, Utah, Carina Miller had never had much faith in the concept of serendipity. Whether one might call it that or coincidence or fate, Carina had always firmly believed that good things come as the result of one's own efforts, not by chance or dumb luck. And running into her friend after all this time was certainly a good thing.

But now, as she watches her friend pushing a loaded buggy towards a black, crew-cab pickup two spots over, Carina is forced to acknowledge that there may be something to it after all.

Sure, almost no one else would have recognized the tall, dark-haired woman (a wig, but very well done) with the large sunglasses, as Sarah Walker, but Carina was certain from the first second she'd laid eyes on her.

The walk, how she carried herself, both unique. The way the woman was taking in everything around her, while giving no obvious appearance of doing so. How, despite the chill, her jacket was open, with one hand free to grasp the pistol she was so clearly (at least to Carina) carrying at her back.

Until now, Carina seeing all this in her side mirror hadn't been noticed. But as Sarah drew closer, it was certain she would take note of the woman sitting, unmoving, in the black SUV. To allay Sarah's suspicions, Carina opens the door and slowly steps out of the vehicle.

She turns to face Sarah. Carina has to hand it to her. Except for a slight hitch in her step, there are no visible signs that she recognizes her friend. She simply continues towards the truck as if nothing untoward had happened.

But when she opens the rear passenger door to load in the groceries, one bag "accidentally" tips and a cantaloupe falls out, rolls on the ground straight toward Carina. It stops right at her feet. Marveling at the woman's precision, Carina bends down and picks up the stray melon, walking over to Sarah's truck to return it to its rightful owner.

Not knowing exactly why, but certain Sarah has good reasons to keep things discreet, Carina simply smiles and offers the piece of wayward fruit.

Chuckling, she says, "Here you go. If I didn't know better, I'd say that it was making a break for it."

"Thanks. I'm so clumsy sometimes."

"Want me to stand by in case anything else gets loose?"

Sarah laughs. "No, I'm good. But thank you."

Turning away, she quickly whispers, barely loud enough for Carina to hear. "West on Old Highway 91. Anasazi Valley Trailhead parking lot. One hour after sunset. Make sure you're not followed."

Carina smiles. "Well, I'm off to do my own shopping now. Take care."

Sarah waves. "Thanks, again."

...

When Carina arrives, the parking lot, illuminated solely by the moon and stars, is deserted. Getting out of the car, she wonders if she somehow misunderstood the directions or the time. Maybe both.

After standing for a few minutes, shivering in the cold, she turns back toward her vehicle, intending to warm herself. As she does so, a figure in black suddenly looms out of the darkness.

Carina jumps. "Damnit, Walker! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Carina. Had to make sure you were clear."

"No one followed me here. GPS in the SUV is off. SIM card is out of the phone. Not my first rodeo, Sarah."

"No, I know. Sorry." She pauses, and Carina can tell she's hesitating about something.

After another moment of silence, Sarah asks, "Carina, what were you doing in St. George?"

"Heading up to Vail to do some skiing, if you must know."

"Why are you driving? I've never known you to drive if you could fly."

Carina notes the suspicion in Sarah's voice. "What's this all about, Walker?"

"Please, just answer the question."

Carina looks at her friend long and hard. "I was undercover in San Diego for the last couple of months. Helped break up a drug cartel. Perp got in a lucky punch. Ruptured my eardrum. He wound up in the ICU. They operated on me, said I couldn't fly. Gave me a month off."

"Oh!"

"And I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

"Sorry."

"So, I'm gonna ask you once...hold on." The light comes on. "I can't believe it! You thought that I was sent to search for you, didn't you?"

Even in the moonlight, it's easy to see Sarah's blush as she looks away.

Carina lashes out, the frustration she'd held in for many months finally rising to the surface. "And just why would I have any reason to even think someone was looking? It's not as if I have any idea what's going on in your life. All I know is that I get back from a long-term undercover operation to find my best friend has dropped off the face of the freaking planet, without so much as a single goddamned text to tell me she's OK. No one seems to want to talk about why, so I'm left in the dark until I finally manage to get hold of Casey.

"After I pressured him—that man is fiercely loyal to you, by the way—he reluctantly tells me that, while I was undercover in Brazil, Chuck had been killed, murdered really, in a fire. And that, after months of you two trying, unsuccessfully, to track down who'd done it, you'd resigned and vanished."

Her voice and manner softens as a note of unforgotten despair creeps into her voice. "And there I was, thinking about how much I wanted to be there for you, because I knew, even if you wouldn't or couldn't see it, just how important he was to you. And I'm afraid, to the point of feeling physically ill, that without him, you might do something stupid, drastic. Like getting yourself killed…or doing yourself harm."

Carina swipes away a couple of stray tears. "But there was _nothing_ I could do. Except hope you were OK. All because you wouldn't reply to any of the hundred messages I left on your burner phone. So, I'm sitting there wondering if I'll ever see you again. Eventually coming to the conclusion that I probably won't.

"But then today happens. On one hand, I'm so happy that I'm ready to burst out in song, like some idiot in a Broadway musical. But, on the other hand, I'm so angry that I could throttle you."

Carina shakes her head. "You don't do that to your friends, Sarah. You just don't."

Sarah hangs her head, choking a little as she replies, "I know. I...I behaved badly. Selfishly. You're not the first person I've had to apologize to." She looks up, her eyes begging. "I truly am sorry."

Carina is taken back. She can't recall the last time she saw her friend so contrite. "What happened to you, girl?"

It's a few seconds before Sarah quietly, haltingly, replies, "You were right. You always had been. I was just too stubborn to admit to myself how truly...essential he was. When we...lost him, it was a terrible time...the worst of my life. Being out in the world was something I just couldn't handle. So I cut myself off from anyone or anything that reminded me of him." She pauses. "That included you, Carina."

"Where did you go? What did you do?"

"I ran away. Shut myself down. Buried myself in a cabin up in the Rockies."

"So, why are you here? What brought you out of your cocoon?"

The red-head watches as a slow smile animates her friends face. "Because a week ago, I found out that Chuck was alive."

Carina gapes at her. "What the hell, Sarah? You couldn't stop me and say, 'Hey, Carina, Chuck's alive, so you don't have to be all sad and weepy. You can stop acting like some emotional teenage girl.' No, you just stand there and let me go on and on."

Sarah shakes her head. "Sorry, Carina, I wasn't trying to embarrass you. It just that your story brought back all the emotions I've gone through. I was genuinely moved by your concern. There are very few people in this world who care for me that much. Thank you for being so worried about me."

Carina huffs, grudgingly replies, "You're welcome. So what really did happen to him? Did he get so tired of waiting for you to get off your ass that he faked his own death just so he could run off with some brunette?"

Sarah, stung a little by her friend's unwittingly well-aimed jibe, covers it with a somewhat nervous laugh.

"No, nothing like that. It's a long story, but here's the gist. Beckman was behind it all. She wanted to use him, so faked his death. His memory was…altered. Casey and I pulled him out of Wyoming where he'd been living for the last year, unaware of who he was, what his real past was. Then we met Ellie, Devon and Morgan at a safe house nearby. Ellie's doing everything she can to fix things."

"Whew! That's quite the gist you've got going there, girl." She pauses, shaking her head. "I must admit that I'm not surprised that Beckman's behind it. Never did trust that Lilliputian."

At Sarah's look of surprise, she exclaims, "What?! I do read, you know."

Grinning, Sarah replies, "Never said you didn't. Just didn't realize they'd ever had occasion to use that word in Cosmo."

"Smartass.'

Sarah chuckles.

"OK, I'm in."

"In on what, Carina?"

"Whatever you're planning to do to Beckman."

"Who says I'm planning to do anything?"

Carina doesn't say a word, just looks at her friend, eyebrows raised.

"OK. There is a plan in the works. Rudimentary, so far. But this isn't your fight, Carina. If it goes wrong, losing your career will be the least of your worries."

"You're my friend, so it _is_ my fight. Got that?"

It's Sarah's turn to blink back tears. She nods, moved to silence by this display of unconditional loyalty.

But she's even more moved when Carina moves in closer and take her in her arms, hugs her close.

"Sarah, I'm so happy that Chuck's alive. And that you've been given a second chance."

She steps back, looks in Sarah's eyes, says sternly, "Don't blow it."

Sarah smiles. "No worry there. While there are still things we need to work out, we're engaged."

Carina looks down to her left hand. Sees it bare.

"No, no ring yet. Haven't actually been able to get to a jewelry store."

"Long engagement?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Just until we get his memories back." She pauses. "And I tell him about me. The real me."

"Whoa. That's a big step. Ain't no going back from that."

"Yes. But he deserves to know. Deserves to have the chance to back out."

Carina bursts out laughing.

"What?"

"Never gonna happen. That man would walk through fire for you." She stops, then goes on, more seriously. "Sarah, he's willing to die for you. I could pretty much tell that the first time I saw you two together. Do you honestly think that learning about your past will push him away?"

"People keep telling me that. But how can you be so certain?"

"Trust me, girl. The only one who's _not_ certain about that is _you_."

"But—"

"No 'buts'. Just accept it and move on."

Before Sarah has any further chance to object, Carina asks, "OK. What's next? I assume you'll take me to that safe house of yours. Oh, and you can also tell Casey that we're good here. He can pack up his surveillance gear and head home."

Sarah's jaw drops. "How did you..."

"It's what I would've done if I wasn't one hundred percent sure of you. As you weren't of me."

Sarah blushes again. "I'm sorry. It's just that I couldn't take any chances. Not with Chuck. I…I had to be sure."

"I've got it, Blondie. Who knows, maybe one day I'll feel the same way about some guy."

Sarah snorts.

"Yeah, you're probably right about that. So, you gonna call off Casey?"

Sarah nods, takes the small radio off her belt. "Casey?"

"Yeah, Walker?"

"We're good here. I'll catch a ride back with Carina. She's decided to throw in with us."

Carina swears she can hear the snarky grumble in the man's voice, even over the tinny speaker of the radio. "Are you trying to tell me that I don't get to shoot her?"

Cheerily, Sarah replies. "Fraid not. Maybe next time."

There's a big sigh. "There's always hope. See you back at base."

"Roger that." Replacing the radio on her belt, she turns to Carina.

"OK, Red. Let's get going. I'll give you directions. Ellie's making dinner tonight and I don't want to miss it."

"OK. Sounds good. I remember Ellie and Devon, but who's Morgan?"

"Chuck's best friend? Short?"

Carina shakes her head. "Nope, not coming to me."

"Dark hair, full beard?"

"Sure you don't mean Martin?"

Sarah shrugs her shoulders, resignedly. "Whatever."

As they seat themselves in the SUV, Sarah turns to her friend. "When we get back to the house, I'll reintroduce you to Chuck."

"Pfft." Carina waves it off, dismissively. "No need for that. There isn't a man alive who could possibly forget me."

Sarah chuckles at her friend's braggadocio.

"OK, we'll see about that. But before we get there, I need to tell you about an important piece of this whole story." She pauses, makes sure she has Carina's attention.

"Have you ever heard of the Intersect?"

...

 **Two weeks later**.

"Ellie, could you please explain that again, but this time in laymen's terms."

"Sorry, Sarah." The brunette doctor notices the group all look a little lost, even Devon.

"Got a bit carried away there."

Ellie gathers her thoughts. "OK. What I'm trying to say is that Chuck doesn't have amnesia, not in the sense we normally think of it. He hasn't really forgotten anything."

Chuck raises his hand. "Sorry sis, beg to differ with you on that one."

That raises a chuckle from the other people in the room.

"Who's the doctor here, little brother?"

"You are."

Ellie grins. "Then maybe you should just clam up and listen to someone who knows what she's talking about before you shoot your mouth off."

Morgan jumps in. "Whoa! Burn. She got you there, Chuck."

Chuck just bows his head in submission, gestures for Ellie to go on.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," she sends a mock glare in Chuck's direction, "he hasn't really forgotten anything. The problem is that the Carmichael personality is preventing him from having proper _access_ to those memories." She pauses. "It's like trying to view a scene through a really dirty window. You can see a hazy outline, but the details are mostly obscured. Only when there's a particularly powerful burst of light," she glances at Sarah, who shyly smiles back at her, "is Chuck able to discern any details and remember something. The problem is those bursts are like lightning, intermittent and unpredictable. We can't depend on them to restore his memories in anything resembling a complete fashion."

Everyone stops to think about that for a moment or two. It's perhaps a little surprising that Casey is the one who breaks the silence with an astute observation.

"So what do we do? Break the glass or just clean it?"

"That's a good analogy, John. My first thought was to break it, to simply eradicate the Carmichael personality and its false memories. But the more I studied the results of the Chuck's tests, the more I realized that doing so would be a much more complex and potentially dangerous procedure than removing the Intersect itself."

"How so?" asks Carina.

"The Intersect kinda sits on top of Chuck's mind, not truly integrated with it. It's as if he has to shift gears to access it. That's what happens when he flashes. Because of that, it will be relatively easy to remove.

"But the Carmichael identity is intertwined with his real personality, especially given that he's lived the last year as Charles Carmichael."

Devon speaks up. "I'm not sure I follow, babe."

"Chuck and I have discussed this. I'll let him fill you in."

All eyes turn to him, sitting on the love seat, Sarah close at his side.

"As most of you know, when I first came to, I really believed myself to be Charles Carmichael. But I had trouble reconciling the kind of person I remember being with the kind of person I actually was. Charles was a loner. Suspicious to the point of paranoia. Unfriendly. But I wasn't like that. It just didn't seem to make sense. I put it down to changes that came about due to the coma.

"But I now realize it was the real me pushing through, something the identity they gave me couldn't completely prevent."

"But why would they create a personality so different than who you were?"

"In order to explain how I created the Intersect. On my own, basically. With no family or friends. No one or nothing would prevent me from being placed up in Casper where I could continue to be Beckman's personal Intersect. And I'd never be tempted to find any of you, because I never knew of your existence."

Ellie continues, bringing the conversation back on track. "And the longer he was up there, the more the two became one. Without knowing it, Charles became more and more Chuck-like, to the point where they were virtually indistinguishable. Would you agree, Sarah?"

Sarah nods. "It didn't take more than a minute for me to know that he was still Chuck." She looks into his eyes, adding softly, "My Chuck."

He leans in, kisses her gently, quickly. "Thank you."

Captivated by their moment, it's a few seconds before Ellie speaks again. "By that point, Charles Carmichael had, in my opinion, become inextricably entangled with Chuck Bartowski.

"If we simply break the glass, it would, and please excuse the mixed metaphor, be akin to throwing the baby out with the bathwater. If we eradicate Charles, some or maybe a lot of Chuck will be eradicated as well."

"So what do we do?"

"First of all, we get rid of the Intersect. I'm ready to do that tonight. OK, Chuck?'

He swallows heavily, then nods, a little choppily. Sarah squeezes his hand, gives him a reassuring look.

"It'll be OK."

"She's right, Chuck. The problems you had last time weren't due to removing the Intersect, but rather the personality that they imposed on you, more or less at the same time."

He nods, more firmly this time. "OK, sis. I trust you."

"Thank you, Chuck.

"What's next, Ellie?" Carina asks.

"As Casey so aptly put it, we're going to clean the glass. Make the barrier so transparent that it will, for all intents and purposes, disappear, thus allowing you to have unfettered access to your real memories. When you do, the Carmichael personality will, I firmly believe, start to fade into the background. The real memories, the ones with actual substance will simply overpower the created, insubstantial ones."

"So I'll forget Charles Carmichael altogether?"

"No, Chuck. He'll always be a part of you. You'll be able, however, to recognize his history, his personality for what it is, a fake. The nearest analogy I can come up with is what an actor goes through when in a long-running TV show. They're familiar, even intimately so, with the character they play. His or her background. What motivates them. But in the end, the actor knows it's just that, an act. They're able to distinguish between the role and real life."

He nods. "And the things I've experienced in the year I was up there? Will they become insubstantial too? Fade away?"

"No more than any normal memory. They're just as real as anything you've experienced as Chuck Bartowski."

"Good." He looks at Sarah, smiles. "To forget the second first time I met Sarah would be a tragedy of the highest order."

As Sarah ducks her head, embarrassed, there are a few "aaaws" from the assembled group, followed by a disgusted grunt from Casey's direction.

When Sarah looks sharply at him, he smirks, then dryly remarks, "You know, Walker, there is a downside to this. He'll be able to remember Gillian as well."

Chuck flushes as Sarah glares at the big man sitting smugly in his armchair. "Can it, Casey."

Morgan pipes up, "Who's Gillian, Chuck?"

…

As it turned out, the disposal of the accursed Internet, that heaviness in his head, was rather anticlimactic.

He simply sat in front of the computer monitor as a series of rapid-fire images flashed on it. Ellie, knowing full well her brother's penchant for all matters sci-fi, had told him these images would be like antimatter, the opposite of the 'matter' the Intersect had put in his brain. In the end, they would cancel each other out and the Intersect would be gone.

And that's exactly what happened.

After the procedure terminated, Ellie had measured his brain waves and performed other related tests. Then she'd declared that they were successful. And that step two would be the following day.

…

The next morning, Sarah brings him breakfast in bed. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, the whole nine yards.

"Wow! The royal treatment. What's the occasion?"

"Do I need a special occasion to to treat my fiancé the way he deserves?"

He grins. "I hope not. But I can tell there's something on you mind."

"I guess I was concerned after last night. You OK?"

"Yep, pretty good. I'm guessing it's psychological, but my head actually feels lighter today."

"Good. That's good."

It's clear to Chuck that there's something else bothering her, but he doesn't ask, just waits her out.

After a few more quiet moments, she asks, "After you've eaten, Chuck, we need to have a talk. Outside. So please dress warm."

Understandably, having seven adults (really six plus Morgan) in a three-bedroom house hadn't left a lot of room for private conversations. Everyone had done their best to be agreeable and patient, but there'd been a few small disagreements as cabin fever had begun to set in.

Fortunately, the gizmo that Chuck had made for Casey allowed them to utilize the distraction of the internet and, for those inclined, to play online games without any fear they could be traced. Of, course they'd been very circumspect, no doing anything to alert the powers that be to their online presence.

At last night's meeting, they'd finally decided how to proceed with "She Who Shall Not Be Named". Chuck had been the last holdout, but, in the end, had agreed with the majority.

Ellie had said they needed some sort of basic history to use, as they wouldn't have time to build one from scratch.

The discussion that followed had been spirited, to say the least. The suggestions had varied wildly from sci-fi characters (Morgan) to women in classic literature (Casey, shockingly). One thing they all had in common though, was that the character had to be one who'd suffered loss and sorrow in their lives.

It the end, it was Carina's suggestion that carried the day. When asked why she thought of it, she'd replied, "It was one of my favorite books as a child." She'd smirked. "And she has red hair, the only color of any _real_ value."

Sarah had thought there was more to it than just that, but hadn't pressed, disturbed to realize how little she actually knew about her friend's early years. That epiphany had resonated with Sarah, helping her to understand, in a way she'd never done before, what Chuck had gone through with her.

It was time to rectify that.

"What is it, Sarah? Is there a problem?"

"No, Chuck. It's just something I've been putting off for far too long."

He looks at for a few seconds, senses her uneasiness, but doesn't comment on it.

He smiles. "Of course. It's a beautiful day and I wouldn't mind getting out of the house."

A short time later finds them seated on the porch swing in the small gazebo out back. It's a crisp, sunny day, their breath forming momentary little clouds in the cold, dry air.

Holding her hand, he waits on her to start speaking.

After taking a deep breath, she begins. "Chuck, remember when you asked me why, before all of this, I hadn't told you I loved you, and I said it wouldn't make sense right at that moment to explain? And I told you that I would sit down and tell you later?"

He nods. "Yes, Sarah, I do."

"This is that 'later', Chuck."

He looks closely at her. "You don't have to do this, Sarah. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

She gives him a tight little smile. "Thank you, Chuck, but I _do_ have to do this. I was going to wait until after Ellie dealt with the whole Carmichael issue, until your real memories would be more accessible. But I've realized that was just me being a coward."

Chuck's about to object, but she forestalls him. "No, Chuck, it's true. Aside from the delaying part, I've come to understand that waiting was going to let you, in some ways at least, do the heavy lifting. Let you tell me what you did and didn't already know.

"And that's not fair, not right. You deserve to hear it from me, firsthand, not through the filter of the Intersect or the words of other people. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Sarah, I do." He stops, thinking. "That's something I've wanted for a long time, isn't it?"

She can't stop the shameful blush from coloring her cheeks. "Yes, you've always wanted that, right from our earliest time together. You practically begged me to tell you something real about myself, about my life. But I turned you down, time after time."

"Why, Sarah?"

"We're trained to never gave away actual information about who we are, where we're from. Innocuous as the question may be, the answer might just be the last piece of a puzzle that leads an enemy to me or to those I care about.

"But you're dangerously easy to talk to, Chuck. I discovered that on our first date when I found myself saying things that surprised me. I knew that if I didn't rein myself in, I wouldn't be able to stop.

"I fooled myself into believing it was for reasons of security, but the truth is, I trusted you. Almost from the first moment we met, I knew I was safe with you.

"Eventually, I came to understand the real reason I hugged my past to myself was that, if I didn't, you would learn things that, I believed, would inevitably push you away from me. And even though I couldn't admit openly it, even to myself, the thought of that was something I couldn't bear."

"Sarah, please stop me if I'm wrong, but the Intersect we just got rid of had redacted almost everything about you. So that means the first one must have had lots of data about you, stuff I must have flashed on from time to time, right?"

She nods.

"So, wouldn't I've known at least some of your history? A few moments ago, you implied that I did when you said you didn't want it filtered through the Intersect."

She nods again.

"But even though I did know, I still loved you, didn't I?"

She blushes. "Yes, Chuck, you did."

"So, why are you worried? Do you think what you're going to tell me now might drive me away?"

"No…yes…I'm not sure."

He's never (at least, that can recall) seen this amazingly competent woman so unsure of herself, and his heart goes out to her. Despite this, however, her words still sting. He does his best to conceal his hurt, but it seems she picks up on it.

Hurriedly, she explains, "I'm not unsure about you, Chuck, not really. Ellie told me, the day you disappeared, that you'd never leave, no matter what you found out about me. Even Casey and Carina said basically the same thing. And I believed them.

"It's just that there's so much...darkness. I have to get this off my chest. I have to let you see the real me."

She shakes her head. "I can't live with the fear that, if I don't, somewhere down the road my past will come back to haunt me...haunt us."

She looks into his eyes, pleading, "Do you understand, Chuck, why I need to do this?"

After a few moments, he replies, softly, "Yeah, Sarah, I do. But it won't change anything."

She squeezes his hand, grateful for his faith. "I trust it won't, but it still needs to be done."

She pauses to muster up her courage.

"Chuck, I expect, even with your current memory issues, you've figured out that Sarah Walker isn't my real name."

"Yes, Sarah. It didn't seem likely, given all the aliases I found you had."

She nods. "I never told you why and how I was given that name, and I'm fairly certain the circumstances were never part of the record. So, even with the Intersect you had initially, you wouldn't have known."

He leans closer, his eagerness to know more of her evident.

"Chuck, on the day I was recruited by Langston Graham, Sarah Walker became my official CIA name of record. To exist in the real world of tax records, driver's licenses and social security numbers. To have some way to be referred to in the official records.

"It was an easy name, a plain one. One that wouldn't stand out in a crowd, so to speak. And it marked a new start for me. While I would use aliases for my missions, the rest of the time I could keep this name. It was mine.

"And I liked it...at first."

He nods, to show he's following, but remains quiet.

"But as time went on, it began to carry a connotation, a very...disturbing one. One I only truly understood after an early mission in Venezuela. I was sent to track down a rogue CIA agent who'd, for money, betrayed a number of contacts and assets to the secret police. I'd been waiting for him in his apartment one night, but just as he was about to enter, something spooked him and he took off. I followed, and, after a long chase, cornered him in a blind alley. He turned to face me, raised his pistol, prepared to go down fighting.

"But then he saw, for the first time, who'd been chasing him, and something totally unexpected happened. He recognized me and, at that moment, all the fight went out of him. His shoulders slumped, his hands dropped to his sides, his pistol hanging loosely in his grip. He spoke, saying, 'Agent Walker. If I'd known they were sending you after me, I would have just shot myself and saved everybody the trouble.'

"I'd never interacted with any of my...targets before. Up until then, I'd only known them through the scope of my rifle. From a distance, both literal and figurative."

She pauses, remembering. He moves closer, put his arm around her shoulders.

"It threw me. Here I was, face to face, with someone who knew me, a man I'd likely met at Langley, although I had no recollection of doing so.

"I'd been sent to terminate him with extreme prejudice, but now my determination wavered and with it, my hand. That seemed to reinvigorate him, and he raised his weapon. My response was instinctual, and a moment later he was dead."

She stares off into the distance. He pulls her a little closer.

"And as I stood there, over his body, I realized that Sarah Walker, that name, had become synonymous with death personified. Swift. Silent. Sure.

"When I returned from that mission, it was with a heightened awareness of self. How could someone like myself, a twenty-two-year-old girl, be such that a grown man would practically cower in fear? Puzzled, I started paying closer attention to reactions of those around me. I noticed that when I'd walk through the corridors at Langley, people would move out of my way, stare as I passed, whisper my name amongst themselves. It wasn't solely fear, although there was some of that. No, it was more a...morbid curiosity about this monster that walked among them. Beauty and the beast rolled into one.

"Deep down, I'd always been shy, introverted. Seeing how others pulled away from me only served to alienate me even further from normal human interactions. And when this resulted in me becoming even more taciturn, more reticent, they withdrew even further. I was trapped in the most vicious of circles.

"I had no friends. No family that I had contact with. There was no compelling reason to remain in D.C. Missions became the very reason for my existence, which, I'm sure, is exactly what Graham had intended when he chose me in the first place."

He leans closer, his voice anguished. "God, Sarah, how could you live like that?"

She shrugs. "It was what it was. It was only later, when I served on a team with Carina, did I finally find friendship."

Startled, he interrupts. "Wait. Are you saying that Carina was the first friend you found after joining the CIA?"

She's grim. "No, Chuck. Carina was the first friend I ever had. Period."

He gapes at her, clearly disbelieving. "You're kidding!" Her expression doesn't change. "You're not kidding."

She nods. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

He shakes his head. "No, Sarah, it's goddamn heartbreaking." He squeezes her hand. "I'm so sorry."

She manages to dredge up a bit of a rueful grin. "What are you sorry for, Chuck? That Carina was my _first_ friend? Or that _Carina_ was my first friend?"

The redhead had been right, after a fashion. Chuck had, in fact, remembered her, although the memories had been fragmentary and sparse. Primarily, though, it was the last two weeks of close contact that had formed his opinion of the woman. He'd candidly admitted to Sarah that while he liked her, he'd also found her mildly terrifying.

He puzzles for a moment, then answers, lightly chuckling, "A bit of both, but mostly the former."

But then he's serious again. "How could that possibly happen, Sarah? How could someone as caring, as loving as you not have any friends until she reached her twenties?" He shakes his head, baffled. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"That's what I'm going to tell you, Chuck. Not just _who_ I was, but w _hy_ I was the person you first met. Not only why I grew to hate the name Sarah Walker, but also how a nerd from Burbank helped me to learn to love that name again…and the person who bore it."

She takes a deep breath.

"For as long as I can remember, my father was a con man…"

…

Just as Ellie looks up from her laptop to take another peek out of the kitchen window, Devon's voice startles her.

"How long have they been out there, babe?"

Feeling a little guilty, she glances at her watch. "Almost three hours now."

"You haven't been spying on them, have you?"

"No, just checking in once and a while to make sure they're OK."

Devon accepts that with no further comment. "Everything alright with them?"

"They're not fighting, if that's what you mean."

His curiosity getting the better of him, he asks, "What do you think's going on then?"

Ellie pauses, unsure how to answer, not wanting to break any confidences. But, after a moment's thought, she comes to the conclusion it safe to reply.

"She's done almost all the talking. I'm almost certain she's telling Chuck about her past. A couple of times she got so emotional that she tried to pull away, but he held her in his arms. They've both been crying, a lot."

"Not spying, huh?"

Ellie blushes. "I'm sorry, Devon. I know I shouldn't have. It's just that-"

A sudden movement from outside catches both of their attention. Chuck is down on his knees before Sarah, her face cupped in his hands, so close that their noses almost touch. He's talking, and she's looking at him wide-eyed. He says something and she shakes her head. He appears to repeat it and, after a few seconds, she reluctantly nods. Wiping away her tears with his thumbs, he moves closer and kisses her. She wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

Both Ellie and Devon find themselves blinking back tears at the same moment they realize how wrong they are to intrude on the couples privacy. They both look away, ashamed.

"Let's head back to the front room, Devon."

"Sure, Babe."

…

Ten minutes later, Chuck and Sarah, hand in hand, join the two doctors in the living room. Their faces are still somewhat flushed, but Ellie sees nothing but a quiet joy in their expressions.

Chuck speaks first. "Ellie, I like to proceed with the remaining procedure. Now, if we could."

"Are you sure, Chuck?"

He nods firmly. "Yes, unless there's some medical reason not to."

"No, we're good there. Understand that there'll likely be a reaction of sorts. A time for your mind to readjust to the new reality. You'll probably be unconscious, but it should pass in a few hours."

"OK. I trust you."

Ellie looks at Sarah. "You OK with this?"

She nods. "Yes, Ellie. It's what we both want. And after it's done, we want all of you to come with us to Vegas." She looks up at Chuck, a little shyly. "We're going to get married."

By dint of sheer will, Ellie manages to contain her squeal. "Yes, of course, we will. There's nothing that would make us happier."

…

He lies on the bed, quiet and unmoving. Except for a marginally rapid pulse and a few slight spikes in brain wave activity, (both dutifully recorded by the attached machines) there is nothing to indicate he's anything but entirely comatose. Neither of the indicators has reached a level to trigger any alarm bells, so, at least for the moment, they go unnoticed. To the casual observer, it would appear that he is in exactly the same condition he's been for the past five hours.

But he's not. Beneath the deceptive outward calm, hampered by his inability to either truly sleep or bring himself to full wakefulness, he finds himself trapped in that disorienting twilight state between consciousness and unconsciousness. And though he remains still, inside he is anything but.

Fragments of fantastically improbable scenes tumble chaotically through his mind. It's impossible to latch onto one, explore it before he is moved on, unwillingly, to the next. He's not even granted that weird, illogical continuity that dreamers often experience, where one scene leads nonsensically into the next in a way that somehow still seems to fit.

No. It's just a jumble of unrelated, hard-edged pieces that don't fit together. A series of disjointed events with no rhyme or reason.

Then, unexpectedly, he's granted a brief moment of clarity, and during it, he's able to discern his error. For there is a constant. One that brings all the pieces together in a way that suddenly does makes sense.

Her.

She's everywhere in his tumultuous thoughts. _Every_ action taken, _every_ choice made comes back to her. Even when she's not foremost in the riotous images flashing through his mind, he can still feel her presence. It's as if she's waiting in the wings for her cue, that moment when she'll join him once again.

He wants that. So badly. And though he has no real sense of time, somehow he knows he's already been away from her for too long. He needs to see her. To touch her. To kiss her.

But to do any of that, he'll first have to wake up. But it's hard, his body so sluggish, insistently demanding more sleep.

And then, suddenly, as if she's right beside him, he hears her gently say, "Chuck, I'm here."

He's startled. So much so that his eyes fly open, all traces of lethargy abruptly fleeing.

He blinks a few times, trying to focus.

"I'm right here, Chuck." And she is. Her face so close that it's the only thing he can see, his whole world, the center of his universe.

As she's been, truth be told, right from that first moment she walked into the Buy More and changed his life forever.

He smiles. "I think introductions are in order."

He sits up, offers his hand. "Hi, my name is Chuck Bartowski."

She takes it, grinning. "Hi, Chuck. My name is Sarah Walker."

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah."

"It's nice to meet you, Chuck."

…

General Beckman had always prided herself on her situational awareness. Without that constant attention to the dangers that surrounded her, she wouldn't have survived her years in the field. Or the less overtly violent, but equally fatal, dangers of the D.C. bureaucracy.

But when she's gradually awoken by someone sitting near her bed, softly singing some tune she can't at first recall, Diane realizes she's clearly lost a step. She lies there for a few seconds, half awake, listening, trying to place the song.

Then it clicks.

 _He's been gone for such a long time_

 _(Hey-la-day-la my boyfriend's back)_

 _Now he's back and things'll be fine_

 _(Hey-la-day-la my boyfriend's back)_

 _You're gonna be sorry you were ever born_

With that cheerful thought, she turns over and sits up, completely unsurprised to see Sarah Walker sitting in a chair a few feet away. She's dressed in black, her long blonde hair (which Diane had always secretly envied) in a ponytail. Her long legs (another source of envy) are crossed at the ankles, her hands clasped in her lap. She looks completely relaxed.

And Diane, wishing she was in her uniform instead of silk pajamas and hair turban, knows she's already at a severe disadvantage, even before the conversation begins.

"Good, you're finally awake. I was just about to go over there and rouse you."

The General nods. "Your singing accomplished that. And just why would you be singing that rather ridiculous old song, Agent Walker?"

She shrugs, cheerfully. "I know it's rather dated, but I heard it on the radio a few weeks ago and it just seems to have got stuck in my brain.

"And it's f _ormer_ Agent Walker, Diane. Please remember that."

Beckman, desperate to regain even a tiny semblance of control, firmly says, "And I expect to be addressed as General or Ma'am. Please remember _that."_

Sarah nods. "I understand where you're coming from, but you seem to have forgotten one important thing, _Diane_.

"Those are titles that denote respect, the right to which you forfeited when you chose to take the immoral, dishonorable path that led to virtually destroying the best man I've ever known.

"The man I love."

Her voice eerily calm, she goes on, "So, rather than address you as, 'Evil, manipulative, lying bitch', which, given the circumstances, is the _least_ pejorative term I can come up with, I'll just continue to call you Diane, if that's OK? To me, it's pretty much synonymous anyway. And as the other is such a mouthful, it would really slow down the conversation we need to have. Oh, and by the way, I'm fine with Sarah. OK?"

She smiles a smile which sends a small chill down the General's spine.

Diane nods choppily.

"Good. Now that we've settled that, we can move on to the more important part of our discussion."

"Don't expect me to apologize for what I did, _Sarah_."

"No, I didn't think you would. I will admit, though, that until all this came out, I hadn't quite taken you for the-ends-justifies-the-means individual that Graham had been."

Beckman shrugs. "Someone has to make the tough calls." She attacks. "And don't try to tell me you've never done something similar. I know you've burned assets. I've read your file."

Sarah shrugs, nods. "Yes, I have. But as you well know, those men were nothing like Chuck. Despicable, scarcely any better than the scum we were using them to get to. Loathsome cowards, who were only in it for the money. Or the carefully cultivated belief that I would wind up in their bed if they cooperated.

"Chuck was, is, an innocent compared to them. He risked his life, his sanity, with no demands for compensation or reward. He did what he did so he could help keep good people safer, even while he had to constantly lie to some of those same good people, the ones he loved the most. And he did it, all the while hating the thing that had been forced into his brain."

Diane shakes her head, "He's not that—"

Sarah cuts her off, sharply. "He's a better person than you and I have ever been or ever will be. Please don't make any feeble attempt to deny it."

She leans forward. Diane instinctively shrinks back, even though there's a good four or five feet separating them.

Anger distorts Sarah's features. Her voice is harsh, unyielding. "So, don't you _dare_ try to imply he somehow deserved what you did to him. Team Bartowski accomplished more good in a few years than most others do in a lifetime. Chuck had done his bit. When that damn thing began to destroy him, you _promised_ that he was done with it, that you would do everything in your power to enable him to lead the life he deserved. Free from the spy life."

She sits back, recomposes herself, shaking her head. "But you just couldn't resist one more kick at the can, could you, Diane? Even though Fulcrum was gone and the Ring was on the ropes, almost all due to Chuck Bartowski, you just couldn't let go of your precious Intersect."

Beckman retorts, "Sarah, you know as well as I do that there's always another enemy waiting around the corner."

"Yes. Diane, I do. Even though I sometimes wonder what part we play in creating those enemies just so we can have something to justify our existence."

She shakes her head. "Regardless, at some point, we all deserve to get off the unmerry-go-round and let someone else take our place. It was Chuck's turn. His collapse was his brain's way of telling him he had to step off."

Sensing an opportunity, Diane replies, trying to sound sympathetic, "Sarah, our scientists were quite sure that this Intersect version would be better tolerated. Otherwise, I wouldn't have allowed it to be downloaded into him again."

Sarah snaps back, furious, "That's a load of crap and you know it! There's no way they knew, _really_ knew, how long he would be able to tolerate it. But you didn't really care, did you? If you got another month out of him or another year, even if it ruined his mind forever at the end, you'd take it. Don't try to tell me any different."

The General, recognizing the futility of trying to defend her approach, sits up straighter, firms her voice and takes another tack. "You're right. I would take any opportunity that presented itself. The greater good is more important than any one man. It wasn't long ago you felt the same way.'

"You're right, Diane. I did."

The older woman sneers, "So, what happened to you? When did you lose your edge? Get soft?"

If Diane had expected this to stop Walker in her tracks, the woman's little, almost shy, smile quickly disabuses her of that notion.

"It started about four years ago, Diane. When Graham sent me to Burbank to recover what Bryce had stolen. I didn't know it at the time, and stubbornly refused to admit it for years afterward, but my life split into two the day I met Chuck. It marked the start of my transition from the darkness into the light."

Sarcastically, Beckman replies, "That sounds so poetic, Sarah. Like something you'd find in the Philosophical Greeting Card section at Hallmark. But the truth is you never really leave that darkness behind. It'll always be a part of you, lurking, ready to pull you back."

Sarah nods. "You'd be right about that if it wasn't for Chuck. His love—"

Diane cuts her off, scoffs, "His infatuation, you mean. Do you really think he could actually love someone like you, the real you? The monster that both you and I know lives within that pretty shell?"

Instead of an angry retort, Sarah quietly replies, "At one time, Diane, I felt the same way. How could a man as good as Chuck possibly have any real feelings for someone like myself? That was my stumbling block...until some people talked some sense into me."

Diane derisively snaps back, "So the opinions of a few people convinced you he could care for you, regardless of your past? Sounds like magical thinking to me."

"It might have been, except that I realized he was already familiar with a lot of my past. The Intersect was responsible for that. And yet he still cared for me."

"And when he finds out about the rest, do you actually think he'll still hang around? Any normal human being would be repulsed, would flee as quickly as they could."

"You're right, Diane. But Chuck isn't a normal man. He's extraordinary. When I told him everything—"

Stunned, incapable of understanding how anyone, let alone a woman with Sarah Walker's past, could be that brave (or that stupid) Diane interjects, "Wait. You told him _everything_?"

"Well, not _literally_ everything _._ But he does know about every brutal, blood-soaked incident. Every moment that made me feel like I was the monster you think I am. I held nothing back. Nothing. I had to, not to test his love, but to make sure he could make a decision free from ignorance. And do you know what he did, Diane?"

Speechless, the General can only shake her head.

"He pulled me close when my instinct was to distance myself. Held me in his arms as I cried. Then, after a long time had passed, _he_ asked _me_ to forgive _him_."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, he told me how sorry he was that he hadn't truly understood the kind of life I'd been forced into. That he'd let me carry this burden all on my own for so long. But if I could forgive him, he would always be there from then on, to help me shoulder the load.

"At first, I refused to acknowledge there was anything to forgive. But he persisted. And I gave in."

"So he didn't run?"

"No, just the opposite, in fact. He's been my husband for three days," she glances at her watch, "seven hours and thirteen minutes now."

Incredulous, Diane responds, "You can't be serious! That's like hitching a plow horse up to a thoroughbred!"

Furious, the blonde leaps to her feet. Her fists clenched, she takes a step toward the bed.

Diane recoils, realizing she may have gone too far this time. She can see the violence in Sarah's eyes.

But then the woman stops abruptly, turns, and takes her seat once more. Takes a couple of deep breaths.

"You know, Diane, I'm gonna let that go. Mainly because you're right, just not in the way you intended. When it comes to the truly important matters of life, I've been the plodder, seemingly always a step behind. But even when I lagged far behind, he always stayed in sight, patiently waiting for me to catch up."

She shakes her head, a wondrous expression passing over her face. "Because he loves me."

Diane doesn't speak for a few moments, caught off guard by this…startling openness. And this from a woman who'd been known amongst her peers for giving new depths of meaning to the word taciturn.

But then, seeing an opening, she asks, quietly, "And after you kill me, Sarah, do you think he'll still feel the same way? How are you going to hide that from him?"

"I'm hiding nothing, Diane. No more lies, no more secrets. He's actually watching us right now."

"What?"

Sarah chuckles. "Someone had to take over your security system to make sure no one knew what was really going on, Diane. Otherwise, do you think I would've let you ramble on in your long, futile attempt to dissuade me from doing what I came here to do?"

She gestures to the small security camera the far corner of the bedroom. "Knowing that we were coming, it was smart of you to install that so they could watch over you as you slept. And as far as they know, you're doing exactly that. Chuck's a genius with that kind of stuff. He's working out of a van down the street.

"Say hello to Chuck. Wave to the camera." Diane does so, half-heartedly, and as she does, she catches the intimate, little smile Sarah sends toward the device.

"And my guards?"

"You mean the two outside your house and the two in the car across the street? They're all sleeping right now. Not the big sleep, mind you, just tranqued. Carina was a big help there. It's quite amazing how distracting that woman can be when she puts her mind to it. They were stunned before we stunned them, if you get my drift."

"What? You've roped Agent Miller into your plan as well?"

"No roping needed. She insisted on helping. It's something friends do.

'However, we did keep one awake until we convinced him to disclose the security protocols."

"You tortured him?"

"No, nothing of the sort. It seems that he'd heard of Casey's...colorful past. It didn't take much more than a growl or two for him to cave. Well, that and a few specific threats. That's how we know we have another hour or so before they're expected to check in."

The General shakes her head. "That wasn't very smart, Sarah. Letting them see who you were. Now they'll know who was responsible. And they won't stop until they find you. You'll be on the run for the rest of your lives."

"Twilight tranq darts, Diane. You remember, like the one they used on the hospital guard the night you stole Chuck from us? They won't remember the last fifteen minutes. And once we're done, you won't be any condition to recall the events of this evening either."

The last statement is spoken so matter-of-factly, that Diane can't stop a chill from passing over her, but she manages to conceal the shudder.

"Are you going to shoot me in my bed, Agent Walker? While Chuck looks on? I would think that would be too much even for the virtual saint you've made him out to be."

"Diane, I told you it's no longer Agent Walker. It's not even _Sarah_ Walker anymore. It's Sarah _Bartowski_.

"I expect you think that, by deliberately ignoring that, you'll throw me off balance, remind me that I'm supposed to be your subordinate. But all you're actually accomplishing is reminding me who I was before and what I was capable of doing.

"Think, Diane." She pauses before asking, "Do you really want to invoke the spirit of Agent Walker right now? To have her here right now, present in this room?"

Sarah regards the older woman for a few long moments. "I don't think you do, because once Agent Walker found out you'd been behind this, shooting you was first thing that came to her mind. And the second, and the third…

"And in some ways, it would still be the best solution. Simple. Quick. Final."

She pauses for a second or two. "And if Chuck had been gone, really gone, that's where things would be standing right about now. But only after you and one of her knives had engaged in a pointed conversation, no pun intended."

There's no humor in her voice and the image, so darkly conjured, _does_ make Diane shudder, but Sarah doesn't appear to notice.

Instead, she looks off into the distance. "You mentioned the darkness a few minutes ago. When Casey and I were searching for who was behind his death, I was prepared to do anything… _anything_ I needed to do in order to find the truth. Do you understand, Diane?"

She nods. "I've been there."

"Fortunately, for them, but more importantly, for me, I never had to carry through on the threats I'd made to those...uncooperative individuals. It seems they'd recognized I was serious, so told me what I wanted to know."

Beckman nods again, not surprised by that at all.

"But I would've gone through with it if they hadn't given in. There's absolutely no doubt in my mind.

"And it frightened me.

"You need to understand, Diane. Chuck had helped me recognize the humanity within me. To see that it was still there, even though it'd seemingly been buried under all the…handiwork I'd carried out. His confidence in me, his faith in my ability to rise above what I'd done, served as a restraint.

"But then, when I thought him gone, I started to slip back into the darkness you talked about. Without Chuck in the world, I started to become whom almost everyone had always believed me to be. Whom I'd believed myself to be.

"Ice Queen. Wildcard Enforcer. Blunt Instrument."

Sarah falls silent for a few moments.

"Diane, did you ever wonder why I disappeared?"

The question catches the General by surprise, coming as it does in the middle of Sarah's monologue. It takes a second or two to change gears.

"I'd always assumed that by isolating yourself you felt you wouldn't be reminded of Chuck."

The blonde nods. "Yes, you're right. That was the main reason.

"But there was another reason, one almost as important. If I stayed in the field, I knew I would gradually lose all that he'd helped me find within myself. Cold-hearted, brutal efficiency would become my norm. At least until someone even more brutally efficient came along to put an end to it all.

"I wasn't about to let that happen, to throw away all the good that he'd brought into my life. If I did that, it would be as if he'd never been there for me in the first place. As if his existence hadn't really mattered to me.

"But he did matter. He _does_ matter. More than anyone else in this world."

Sarah brings her eyes back to Beckman's. "Diane, do you understand why I'm telling you all this?"

She thinks furiously, somehow knowing the answer to this question is important. Maybe if she gets this right, this woman might just grant her some form of mercy.

"Yes, I believe so. I know it may be too little, too late, but now that I understand how much he meant to you, I'm truly sorry for what I did."

Sarah mulls that over for a few moments. "You know, Diane, there's a part of me that actually believes you mean it, a little bit at least." She shakes her head. "But no, that's not the reason."

The older woman's face falls.

"No need to look so glum. It wouldn't have changed what's going to happen even if you had gotten it right."

She leans forward, her voice harsh, flat. "No, I told you my story so you would have some small idea of what it feels like to have the one thing that that gave your life real meaning, the only thing that brought you true happiness, suddenly, callously torn away from you.

"You need to suffer. Like I did. Like Ellie did. Like Morgan, Devon and even Casey did.

"Simply killing you would be too merciful. Too quick. You need to be alive in order to see everything you value stripped away. Your power. Your authority. Your self-importance."

Beckman, trying hard to hide her relief, replies, "Then, what, Age—Sarah? Are you going to try to coerce me into resigning? Blackmail me?"

"It's a little hackneyed, don't you think? And there's no guarantee that would work.

"But we do have to be rid of you. Even Chuck, kind as he is, came to conclusion that, if we're going to have any chance of leading a life with some degree of normality, something must be done."

"So you won't kill me and you won't force me to resign. It seems you've left yourself with no options, Sarah."

"There is one. Does the name Summer Crest ring a bell? Don't bother answering, I can see it does."

She smiles. "Chuck is an absolute genius at hacking. It didn't take him very long at all to find out that this was the project behind the procedure you used on him. You can imagine he wasn't very happy about that. But Ellie, well, she went through the roof when she found out what you'd done and how you'd manipulated all of us."

Sarah shakes her head, chuckling. "That woman has a shockingly graphic vocabulary when it comes to the subject of one General Diane Beckman. There were a number of terms that made me blush. Even Casey was caught flatfooted by a few of them. It seems doctors have a unique lexicon when it comes to describing the human anatomy and its capacity for self-inflicted acts."

She smiles grimly. "You see, Diane, Ellie is the one you should be really afraid of. She figured out how to eradicate the Intersect and neutralize Charles Carmichael. A person who's capable of doing that is also one who's capable of doing some very interesting things going the other direction. And after we discussed it, Chuck had to agree that this was the best course open to us."

Diane is hit by a sudden sense of foreboding. "What do you mean?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. I'll just say this.

"Let the punishment fit the crime."

Sarah abruptly stands, reaches to her holster and pulls out a pistol. "OK, I think we're done here."

The General instinctively flinches.

"Just a tranq pistol, Diane. A little incentive to make sure you cooperate. I'm quite prepared to dress you if need be, and Casey's willing to carry you out over his shoulder, but I don't think you would find that very dignifying. So, don't make me use this. Just get dressed in some comfy, casual clothes, because we're going for a ride, and then a long flight in a private plane. Please wear some sensible shoes. You're gonna need em. And don't worry about your _personal_ effects.

"When we're done, they won't mean anything to you anyway.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Bring a warm coat. Utah can be a little chilly this time of the year."

 **TBC**

— _A/N: Epilogue to follow. Soon. Thank you for following along and all your kind reviews._


	11. Never Was-Third Arc Epilogue

_A/N: We've finally arrived. The end of Chuck Versus The Man Who Never Was. As told in three Arcs. Or alternate story lines. Call it what you will._

 _You'll notice that Beckman is not treated kindly in this story. As one reader pointed out this is a first-two-season General Beckman, not the mellow one of later seasons._

 _Not that this story is canon. Canon-ish at best._

 _Thanks to michaelfmx my beta whose invaluable assistance has helped to me to reach this point._

 _Thanks as well to_ _Zettel_ _and Grayroc (with whom I've had a number of enjoyable face-to-face encounters) for their advice and assistance._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _On to the epilogue!_

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS-THE THIRD ARC**

 **Epilogue**

"Deputy Director MacNamara. The President will see you now."

The man stands and, nervously clutching his slim briefcase, follows the office assistant to the door of the Oval Office. Even after all this time as the pro tem head of the NSA, he still finds himself apprehensive when meeting with the Commander-in-Chief.

However, the news he brings today should help dispel the uncertainty that has plagued his organization since General Beckman's mysterious disappearance six months ago. Hopefully, they'll be able to move on and appoint a permanent replacement for the diminutive woman who'd ruled the roost at Fort Meade for so many years.

And James MacNamara, safely ensconced as a civilian bureaucrat, is very, very glad that he's in no position to even be considered for the position. Experiencing firsthand the stresses of the top job has made Beckman's past bouts of irascibility much more understandable.

And, of course, he'll be very happy to finally rid himself of the whole Intersect mess. Let Beckman's successor take care of the fallout.

The President rises from his desk as the Deputy Director enters.

Pointing to the couches in the middle of the office he says, "James, good to see you. Please sit down. Would you like some coffee?"

It seems he's in a good mood, which makes things a little less tense.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. President. That would be nice."

After placing the order, the President sits down on the opposite couch.

James waits for him to speak first.

"So, James, I understand you've finally found General Beckman."

James flinches a bit at the "finally", but replies quickly, "Yes, Sir. Were you informed of the details?"

The man shakes his head. "No, just that she's alive, but perhaps not very well."

"That's basically correct, Sir." James picks up his briefcase. "If you don't mind, I have all the details here."

The President nods. "Go ahead."

The Deputy Director opens his briefcase, takes out a folder and places it on his lap.

Opening it, he looks at the first page, more to calm his nerves than any need to be reminded of what it contains. "Sir, as you know, we'd been searching for General Beckman since November 18th. last year. After three months, the search was scaled back, as no trace of her whereabouts had come to light.

"However, two days ago, a Marine Captain," he glances at the page, "by the name of James Davis, who was on leave, happened to stop at a roadside café in Cortez, Colorado. The Captain, who had spent some time at Fort Meade, immediately recognized the waitress who served him as General Beckman."

"What?"

There's a knock on the door, which is then opened by an office assistant bringing in the coffee tray. Both men remain silent while the tray is deposited on the table between them.

"Thank you, Allison."

"You're welcome, Mr. President." She closes the door behind her.

The President speaks first, shaking his head. "So you're telling me that Diane Beckman has been hiding out in…where was that again?"

"Cortez, Colorado. About 380 miles southwest of Denver. Near the Utah and New Mexico state lines."

"So, a respected General, the head of the NSA, decides to give that all that up to become a waitress at…"

"Bob's Country Kitchen, Sir."

The President shakes his head again. "Why on earth would she choose to do that?"

"It's not quite as simple as that, Sir."

"What do you mean?"

"General Beckman appears to be unaware of her true identity, Sir. She believes herself to be a woman by the name of Diane Shirley. While being interviewed by the agent in charge, she emphasized, a number of times I might add, that it is Diane with an 'E'."

"I gather that was important to her."

"It certainly appears so, Sir. She told the agent that she'd been orphaned when very young and had spent her early life being bounced around from foster home to foster home. Very unsatisfactory ones, it seems. However, she'd eventually been adopted by an older couple from Rhode Island, a brother and sister. It seems they'd misread the name, thought they were getting a boy by the name of Dane. Nonetheless, they'd kept her and they grew close. She eventually became a teacher, living on the family farm for many years after her adoptive parents died. Later on, she decided she wanted to travel, so rented the farm out and has been traveling around the US in her RV, taking odd jobs as the situation required."

"James, I can't quite put my finger on it, but a lot of that story sounds familiar. Like I've read it somewhere before."

"You're not the first to remark on that, Sir. Her history appears to have been based, at least partially, on a children's book titled—"

The President snaps his fingers. "Anne of Green Gables! I remember reading it to my daughter."

"Yes, Sir. That's the one."

"How the hell did she wind up believing that story?"

"Sir, do you remember the conversation we had about Project Summer Crest?

"Yes, of course." He pauses. "Oh, I see."

James' mind flashes back to the meeting five months ago, one much less pleasant than this one.

...

"How the hell do you not know what's going on in your own organization? You're the Deputy Director for god's sake!"

James MacNamara feels the sweat pop out on his brow, but dares not wipe it away. He's tired. So tired. The last two weeks have been hell, and he once more inwardly curses the woman who'd left behind such a freaking mess.

"I'm sorry Mr. President. General Beckman seems to have kept quite a number of things hidden from virtually everyone, myself included. It's only since her disappearance that I've been able to access her private files."

The President, still fuming, curtly asks, "What have you found?"

"Sir, it appears that the General exceeded her mandate most often in relation to Project Omaha. Specifically, the part of it known as the Human Intersect Project."

"Yes, I'm familiar with it. Some civilian wound up with all our secrets in his brain by accident, right?"

"Yes, a man by the name of Charles Irving Bartowski unwittingly became the Human Intersect. Agent Sarah Walker from the CIA and Major John Casey from the NSA were assigned as his bodyguards and eventually, his teammates. The team was instrumental in our successful battle with Fulcrum and, later the Ring."

"I know all that, Deputy Director."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sure you do. Just wanted to bring you up to speed in order to better understand the most recent events." James takes a deep breath. "Approximately fourteen months ago, Mr. Bartowski, commonly known as Chuck, started to show signs of severe mental degradation, brought on, it was determined, by the presence of the Intersect. In order to save his life, or at the very least, his sanity, the Intersect needed to be removed. He, accompanied by his extended team, was taken to a medical facility in Virginia for the procedure. After which, Beckman agreed that Mr. Bartowski would have no further involvement in the Human Intersect Program. However, shortly after the procedure was performed, there was a fire at the facility.

"A single fatality was reported." James pauses. "It was thought that Mr. Bartowski had died in the fire."

"The way you say that makes it clear he didn't."

"Yes, Sir. I've discovered that General Beckman had, in effect, kidnaped Mr. Bartowski from the hospital prior to having the fire set. The intent being, of course, that everyone not in the know would think him dead and she could proceed with her plans."

"Which were?"

"To download a somewhat newer version of the Intersect into Mr. Bartowski's head, Sir. So she could continue to reap some benefit from the Intersect's capabilities."

"Why would he agree to that after it almost killed him?"

"Chuck Bartowski would not, but Charles Carmichael seemingly did."

"I'm not following."

"Sir, have you ever heard of Project Summer Crest?"

The President thinks for a few moments, shakes his head. "No, nothing I can recall."

"Summer Crest was a secret, off-the-books project designed to allow us to download an entire history and personality into an agent's mind, providing him or her with a virtually unbreakable cover. Because the agent would actually believe that he or she _is_ that person, there would never be any slip-ups, even under enhanced interrogation. However, due to concerns over our ability to later retrieve the agent's real identity, the project was shelved and all further work on it was brought to a halt."

"Let me guess. Beckman secretly revived it?"

"Yes, Sir. It seems she did. Shortly after Chuck Bartowski 'died', a Charles Carmichael suddenly appeared on the books. I've been able to determine that, using the cover name Charles McNeil, he was sent to run a far from the mainstream NSA listening post in Casper, Wyoming. I've examined General Beckman's encrypted private communications with him and have come to the conclusion that Bartowski and Carmichael are one and the same person. And that he's a human Intersect once again. Logic seems to indicate that the only way the man would take it on again would be if he believed himself to be Carmichael and that his previous memories of the Intersect, along with those of his past life, had been erased."

The President scowls. "Let me see if I've got this right. The head of the NSA basically kidnapped an American citizen, after subjecting him to an unsanctioned procedure, just so she could have her own private Intersect. And doing this while everyone who cared for him thought he was dead. That about right?"

"Yes, Sir. That sums it up."

The man actually growls, which startles James. "What a goddamned mess! If I ever see that red-haired little gnome again, I swear I'm gonna strangle her myself!"

James, while feeling the same way, wisely says nothing, just sits quietly as the President works to bring his anger under control.

"OK. OK. We need to do some damage control. Have you tried contacting this Bartowski Carmichael character? See if we can bring him in and try and fix what's been done to him? Find some way of compensating him, apologizing to him and his family?"

"Unfortunately, it's too late for that, Sir. It's just come to light that, despite Beckman's efforts to hide him, Walker and Casey somehow managed to find Bartowski and extricate him. Then they dropped off the grid."

"Have you tried contacting his family or friends? See if they might know where he is?"

"We tried, but it turned out that his sister, her husband and his best friend also disappeared around the same time. We assume they're together somewhere, Sir. And that his sister, a neurologist, has been working on Chu—sorry, Mr. Bartowski's problem.

"We also believe, without any hard evidence to support it, that this group is behind the disappearance of General Beckman, Sir."

The President nods. "Makes sense. Do you think they plan on killing her?"

"It's hard to say, Sir. The files of both agents indicate they're certainly capable of doing just that. Agent Walker more so than Major Casey."

"Why would you say that, MacNamara?"

"A number of reasons. Beckman was Major Casey's superior for a number of years, and personally knowing the man's sense of loyalty, I'm not sure he would normally be willing to go quite as far as physically harming the General. However, he would expect that loyalty to be, in turn, shown to him. If it wasn't, if he felt betrayed by her actions, it's possible that all bets would be off."

"And Walker?"

"In light of all this, I've read through her service record." He pauses. "It was…profoundly disturbing. For a number of years, before Director Graham's demise, Agent Walker was his personal…I guess the best word would be enforcer. Basically a sanctioned assassin. And, if I had to guess, Graham used her for a number of _unsanctioned_ missions as well."

"So you believe one or both would be capable of killing her?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Have either of them ever showed signs of going off the reservation before?"

"No, Sir, not to our knowledge."

"OK. So what was the trigger for this incident?"

"Sir, I found clues in some of Beckman's handwritten notes that she made in the margins of the private file she maintained on what came to known as 'Team Bartowski'." James rustles through the papers in his lap until he finds the one he's looking for.

"Shall I read a few of the highlights to you, Sir? I believe it will make matters clearer."

"Go ahead."

James starts reading.

" _Major Casey seems reluctant to follow my direction on how to handle the asset. Is he going soft? Developing some sort of connection with the Intersect?"_

" _Agent Walker isn't what I expected her to be. When I suggested she take whatever measures were needed to make sure the Intersect cooperated, she was evasive. She indicated that she felt her current approach was working, so didn't need to go beyond that. Don't understand why she's reluctant to take the Intersect into her bed. The man would be as docile as a lamb if she did."_

" _Casey sided with Walker today in defending the Intersect's unorthodox actions, saying the results speak for themselves. It appears my plan to keep the two at loggerheads may not be working. What's uniting the two of them against me?"_

" _Has Walker compromised herself with the Intersect? Has she deluded herself into believing the cover could become something real? That she could lead some sort of normal life? I'll need to watch her more closely."_

" _Major Casey balked at an order I gave today regarding the disposal of the Intersect, suggesting that it wasn't the best course to take. He's never done that before. If he continues to be difficult, drastic measures may need to be taken."_

" _I believe Walker thinks she's in love with the asset. This is intolerable. I will not let my control of the Intersect be compromised by a woman who can't rein in her juvenile feelings. I may need to bring in another agent to fracture the team's interpersonal relationships in order to reestablish my dominance."_

"There's more, Sir, much more, but that gives you the gist. That last entry was written shortly before Mr. Bartowski began to show signs of mental breakdown."

The President is silent for a few moments, clearly thinking over the implications of what he's just heard.

"It seems both agents had developed a strong attachment to Mr. Bartowski, to the point they were willing to go against orders."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you think that Agent Walker went beyond that attachment, that she actually did fall in love?"

"It's impossible to say with any certainty, Sir. Those types of entanglements are discouraged amongst agents, but are even more frowned upon between agents and assets."

"Given your description of her, of the things she's done, it seems unlikely that she would even be capable of the...softer emotions."

"I agree, Sir, but her subsequent actions seem to indicate she did have strong feelings for the asset. After a prolonged, and ultimately fruitless search for the perpetrators of Mr. Bartowski's 'death', she resigned from the CIA, then fell off the face of the earth. That type of behavior would fit someone who'd lost a person they truly cared for."

The President nods. "And would make her feel all the more strongly about Beckman's actions."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you think Beckman's dead?"

James thinks for a few seconds before replying, "No, Sir, I don't believe she is. If they'd simply wanted her dead, there would have been no reason to take her from her home. It's not as if they're using her as a hostage. There haven't been any demands. No, I believe they took her in order to do something much more complex than shooting her. What, I'm not sure."

The President shakes his head. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad I'm not facing a woman who's as pissed as Agent Walker must be right about now."

"I agree, Sir."

"You'll keep looking for the General?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you'll keep me informed if Bartowski contacts us."

"Yes, Sir."

"If he does, I want this all swept under the rug. Generous compensation for what was done to him in exchange for his silence on the matter. And immunity from prosecution for him and his team for any criminal acts that may have been committed. That clear, James?"

"Yes, Sir."

The President nods, thoughtfully. "I wonder what they've done with her?"

"I expect we'll find out at some point, Sir."

...

"They did to her what she had done to him."

"Yes, Sir, it appears so."

"You have to admit, there's a certain poetic justice in that."

James doesn't comment. It's not his place to do so.

The President goes on, "You'll be bringing her back here?"

"Yes, Sir. The scientists involved with Summer Crest feel they'll be able to restore her memories."

"Should we do that, James? Maybe it would be better to leave her as she is."

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"It sounds like she's reasonably happy where she is. Even if we do get her back, I'll be asking for her resignation. She's done in this town. Maybe she'd be happier not knowing that."

"I see your point, Sir. However, I don't believe we have the right to decide that for her. If we made that decision for her, we would be doing basically the same thing she did to Mr. Bartowski."

The President sigh. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Pausing, he asks, "Speaking of Bartowski, how did the negotiations go?"

"Quite satisfactorily, Sir. We established contact, as you remember, not too long after I briefed you about Beckman's actions involving Summer Crest. He and his team came out of hiding after we were able to deliver the needed assurances that we wanted to resolve this matter amicably.

"Chuck's sister and her husband were offered positions, which they accepted, at the West Los Angeles VA hospital. He as a surgeon and she in research. They still live in Burbank."

"Morgan Grimes, Chuck's friend, now has his own Comic Book combination Game Store in Burbank."

"And the rest?"

"Major Casey took his pension, which we've enhanced considerably. Agent Walker, despite her age, was also granted a substantial pension."

"And Mr. Bartowski?"

"He seems to be fine. Even without the Intersect, he seems to be very capable. Using the generous compensation we gave him, the three of them have started a private cybersecurity a firm. They'll be bidding on government contracts. Given what they bring to the table, I believe we'll be able to use them.

"Oh, one more thing, Sir. Chuck and Sarah have been married for a few months now."

"That's good to hear. I guess that puts to rest the question about her feelings."

"Yes, Sir, it does."

The President stands and offers his hand. James stands quickly, takes the man's hand in his.

"Thank you, James. You've done a good job the last few months. And you've done it honorably."

"Thank you, Mr. President. That's kind of you."

"Now that we've got the Beckman thing sorted, I'll be suggesting possible candidates to fill her position."

"That's good, Sir." James can hear the relief in his voice.

The President smirks. "That way, someone else will be responsible to make all these nerve wracking visits to the Commander-in-Chief."

James grins back. "Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome, James."

…

John Standing Bear has just about finished dressing the deer when he hears the series of pistol shots echoing from the direction of Sarah's place.

He listens carefully. At his side, Saridj perks up his ears as well.

 _Please come to the cabin._

John looks around, gauging how much daylight is left, calculates whether he can make it to her place before nightfall. Seeing he cannot, he returns to the task at hand, but only after firing off two quick rifle shots to let them know he'd heard.

At least this way, he'll have some fresh venison to take with him in the morning.

He's glad to be out in the open again, grateful for the early spring. While there are still patches of snow around, the weather is comfortable. When he'd called Sarah on the satellite phone to tell her of his intentions to return to the woods, she'd commented that his timing was good, as she and her husband would be coming up in a couple of days. That was a little over a week ago.

He hadn't been in the least surprised to find out that she'd married the man he'd met last fall.

Even in the brief time he'd seen them together, it was blatantly obvious that they had an unbreakable bond. The only thing that had concerned him was whether the memory issue the man had experienced might prove to be a hindrance to their progress.

Clearly, it hadn't.

He had been surprised, though, by how she'd lingered over the word "husband", an almost childlike wonder in her voice.

He shakes his head at the thought, pondering if, now that they're married, she'll finally start to accept that she deserves to be happy. And if the darkness John had seen within her would start to fade from her mind. And her heart.

He sighs. Only time will tell, but with Chuck at her side, the chances are good.

…

The next morning, as he clears the trees at the edge of her property, he sees the two of them sitting on the porch, seated in comfortable looking chairs, new ones.

Ed is sitting on the ground in front of the porch. With his sharp eyesight, John can tell, even from this distance, that the dog is patiently exasperated (or what passes for the canine version of patient exasperation). The reason being a small black and white pup which, much to the amusement of the two people on the porch, keeps trying to tackle the older dog, who pointedly ignores his smaller companion.

But then Ed notices the newcomers and runs toward them. The pup, after a moment's hesitation, gamely follows, tripping and stumbling over its own feet a little as it does so.

Saridj looks up for permission, and John nods.

The three dogs meet halfway. The pup's initial courage somewhat wanes, so it stays close to Ed, curious, but not sure of the stranger. Saridj is curious as well. However, after a few tentative sniffs and odd little movements, the three start playing together.

"John!"

He brings his eyes back to the porch, sees Chuck and Sarah standing, waving in his direction.

He waves back, resumes his walk toward the cabin.

The two come off the porch, walk his way, holding hands.

Sarah moves in close, hugs him, a little awkwardly considering the large backpack he still has on. "John, it's so good to see you."

She releases him as Chuck offers his hand.

As the two shake hands, Chuck says, with a smile, "John, it's nice to see you again."

He nods. "Sarah. Chuck. It's good to have you back."

Sarah puts her arm through Chuck's, leans her head on his shoulder.

"I've just made fresh coffee, John. Would you like a cup?"

He nods. "Yes, Sarah, I would. Thank you."

They walk back to the cabin. John slips off his backpack, places it on the ground near the porch. His rifle remains slung over his shoulder.

"Chuck, could you please grab another chair. I'll bring out the coffee."

"Sure." Sarah disappears inside, while Chuck grabs one the folding chairs that John remembers from previous times.

Chuck gestures towards one of the more comfortable chairs. "John, you can sit there. I'll take this." He points to the one he'd just placed.

"Thanks, but I prefer that one. The others look a little too soft for me."

Chuck nods, smiling. "No problem."

John sits, leans his rifle against the railing, within easy reach.

The screen door pushes open, Sarah coming through the doorway with a tray, upon which are three coffee mugs, cream and sugar. She places the tray on a small table, then turns to John.

"Cream, one sugar, right?"

Pleased that she remembers, he nods. She prepares it, then hands him the mug. After preparing Chuck's (without asking how he takes it), she picks up her own mug which contains a teabag.

Chuck looks her way, eyebrow raised. Something passes between then that John can't decipher.

"Already had my cup for today, Chuck."

"Oh, right."

She sits facing their guest.

After taking an appreciative sip (good coffee being one of the few things he misses about civilization), John comments, "You have a new pup, I see."

Sarah briefly looks out into the yard.

Fondly she replies, "Yes, we adopted him. We named him Chas."

John glances Chuck's way before commenting, "It's a good name. Ed needed the company." It's left unsaid that Ed wasn't the only one who does so.

At this, all three fall silent for a few minutes as they watch the dogs playing. John notices that Saridj heads off any tendency for the group to drift toward the tree line. At the reminder, John glances towards his rifle, knowing he can grab it at a second's notice if need be.

Sarah breaks the silence. "John, Chuck and I would like to thank you for all you've done for us."

He waves it off. "I should be thanking you. Allowing me to stay here over the winter was a kindness."

Chuck asks, "Weren't you lonely? Isolated up here?"

He shakes his head. "No. Saridj was with me. There were lots of books and I had almost everything else I needed. And when I did need something, I was able to get into town." He nods toward the Defender parked under a tree. "It's a good vehicle. Had no serious problems getting around. Although, it did help that the snowpack was a little lighter this year."

"That's good."

There's a pause in the conversation as he studies the couple before him, remembering the last time he'd seen them, the haunting anxiety about their future that the two had tried so hard to hide from each other.

There's no sign of it now. In its stead is a quiet joy, a bone-deep contentment.

He nods. It's what he'd hoped for. What they deserved.

He asks, "Everything went well? Your memories are back?"

Chuck nods, Sarah close beside him looking up into his face. "Yes, for the most part. The impediment was…shunted aside. I remember most things, but there are gaps here and there. Less of them each day, though, as events or words," he looks down to Sarah's hand entwined with his, "or a touch triggers a recollection. All the big stuff, the really important stuff, is back.

"And there's been an unexpected benefit that's come out of this whole mess. There were certain...apprehensions about our relationship," he glances, shamefully, at Sarah, "that returned alongside the memories, ones that, in light of recent events, I came to realize were baseless...foolish. And always had been.''

He looks her way again, a little apprehensively, but all she does is nod and give him an encouraging smile.

Relieved and heartened by her actions, he goes on, much more cheerfully, "And best of all, of course, is that I got to fall in love, a second time, with the most amazing, most beautiful woman in the whole wide world."

She blushes, buries her head in his shoulder, mumbles, "Chuck, you're embarrassing me."

He grins, then drawls, "Ain't nothin' but the truth, honey."

John smiling, watches them for a few seconds, then, to spare her, changes the subject.

"What happened after you left here?"

She brings her head back up and, after shooting Chuck a look, turns to John and says, "It took some time, but Chuck's sister was able to sort out his issues. And we also figured out how we were going to deal with the person who brought all this on. We created a false identity for her, one she herself would believe to be true. Like what she'd done to Chuck."

The big man nods, thinking. "So, this Diane Shirley, the woman you asked my cousin to hire at his restaurant, was she the one who was behind all this?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you exactly why I asked the favor from you, from him. We didn't tell you the details to protect the both of you. Her false identity documents were impeccable, so there was nothing that could come back on him. And they couldn't make any connection between you and us either."

"I understand. But now you can speak of what happened?"

"Yes. I can't go into it too much, but we've cleared things up with the government. We no longer need to hide."

"Even after what you did to her?"

Chuck shakes his head. "No, not even with that. In fact, they asked us to put everything behind us, pretend it never happened. Let's just say there were certain...events that they wanted to keep quiet."

John nods once again, taking it all in. "Now you can move on."

Sarah firmly replies, sitting forward. "Yes, we have some plans, something that we, Casey and the two of us, can do together. We'll each bring our own unique skill set to into the business. We'll govern our own course, no longer subject to the whims of the ones we had to answer to previously."

John can only imagine what kind of things Sarah had been forced to do before, but it's clear from her words that she'll no longer accept being controlled in that way. By anyone.

Sarah breaks into his thoughts. "They found her two days ago."

"Diane?"

"Yes. They've taken her back to Washington."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not really. We knew it would happen sooner or later. And that they'll probably be able to restore her memories. However, I was informed by someone in the know that, either way, she's finished in D.C. She'll be forced to retire."

He asks, quietly, "Will that be enough, Sarah? To balance the scales?"

She glances at Chuck before answering, "The person I was…before…would've said no, that something more...drastic needed to be done."

She gives herself a little shake. "But that's not who I am anymore." She looks at Chuck again, gratefulness in her little smile. "So this will be enough. She'll live the rest of her life knowing what it's like to suffer the loss of everything that was precious to her.

"And in the end, that's worse for her than the...alternatives."

Chuck, reaches over, takes her hand from her lap, squeezes it gently.

John says nothing, just watches the silent communion pass between them, the tenseness evaporating as she leans back into her chair.

This time it's Chuck who breaks the silence. "John, the main reason we've asked you to come here today is because we have something to celebrate. Ellie, my sister, and her husband, Devon, along with my friend Morgan and Casey, will be coming up to join us. Oh, and a couple I got to know well while I was...that other person will join us as well."

Sarah gently admonishes him. "You forgot someone, Chuck."

Chuck, winces theatrically. "And Carina." In an aside, he adds, "John, for your own safety, when you see her, run. Run, as if your life depended upon it!"

Sarah chuckles, "She's not that bad, John. She's just a little forward, is all."

"Sure. Like the Titanic was just a minor boating accident. Like Chernobyl was just a bit of an off day down at the local power plant. Like the Hindenburg was just—"

Sarah slaps him on the shoulder, laughing. "Stop, Chuck!" She turns to the big man, who's watching them amusedly. "She really isn't that bad."

Chuck, leans forward, stage whispers, "Don't listen to her, John. Run!"

He laughs. "I'll take it under advisement. Right now, I'd like to use your washroom, if I may?"

While trying to glare menacingly (and failing) at Chuck, Sarah waves him in. "Go ahead, John."

As the screen door closes behind him, he stops, for a brief moment wondering, irrationally, if he's in the right cabin.

For the scene before him is as different as...as night is from day.

The interior _had_ been a veritable shrine to the spartan, solitary life she'd led.

A life _endured_ rather than _lived_.

But now...

He looks around, a little bewildered, wondering if he's somehow stepped into a Van Gogh painting.

The wooden floor has been painted a light yellow, pushing warmth and light into every previously cool, shadowed corner.

Small, colorful rugs are placed here and there.

The small, drab one person kitchen table has been replaced by a vivid blue one, flanked by two red chairs with green cushions.

The walls (still in their natural finish) previously bare, are now tastefully decorated with a number of large, bold abstracts. Incongruously, there's a movie poster of some sort off in one corner. A concession, he figures.

Passing by the sleeping area, he notices that the single bed has, understandably, been replaced, by what appears to an extra long double, serving the dual purpose of not only saving space, but also keeping Chuck close. Very close. He chuckles, wondering if this was a concession _he'd_ made. If so, he doubted it'd taken much effort on her part to persuade him.

After finishing in the washroom, he walks to the fireplace. The mantle is filled with photos, many of people whom John doesn't know, although it's pretty easy to tell which one is Ellie, the family resemblance being that strong. Amongst them, are pictures of what appears to be a wedding, in Vegas by the looks of it. The tall redhead in the photo is likely the Carina they'd talked about. He studies her for a moment. She doesn't look all that frightening.

Front and center, is one of Chuck and Sarah, taken what appears to be a few years ago. She's softly smiling at the camera, while Chuck, behind her with his arms around her, nuzzles her cheek.

It's a surprisingly intimate picture, one where they both seemed to have let their guard down.

While he doesn't know the details of what they'd gone through during the intervening years, he knows enough to sense that it hasn't been all smooth sailing, even discounting the most recent crisis. And that they've had to fight to get where they are today.

As he goes through the doorway, he stops, seeing that the two of them have stepped away from the shadows of the porch out into the brilliant spring sunshine. They're watching Ed and Saridj tear around the yard. Chas seems to have tired, for Sarah has the pup cradled in her arms as if she was holding an infant, with Chuck standing close, his arm protectively around her shoulders. She looks up at him, then back down at the little creature in her arms, a little smile on her lips. He chuckles lightly, then leans in and gently kisses the top of her head.

And just like that, it becomes abundantly clear what they're going to be celebrating this day.

Truth be told, John suddenly finds himself a little envious of the future he sees stretching out before them, not that this minimizes the pleasure he feels over being included in the group soon to hear the couple's good news.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, comes the memory of sitting at his mother's side while she read him the parable of the Prodigal Son.

He's puzzled. _Why?_ There's nothing in that story that ties in with either Chuck's or Sarah's circumstances, at least that he knows of.

But then it comes to him. It's not the story itself, but, rather, the father's words upon seeing his long-lost child once again that are so apropos of their story.

 _He was dead, but has come to life again._ _He was lost,_ _but has been found._

But not just him, of course.

 _She was dead, but has come to life again._ _She was lost,_ _but has been found._

He tries to remember what came next.

 _Oh, yes._

 _They celebrated._

 **The End.**

—

 _A/N: Thank you all for following along, for your kind reviews and suggestions. I truly appreciate all you nice people out there. If you haven't had the chance to review this story, here's your opportunity to comment on the completed tale._

 _I'll be taking a break for a while. Not sure for how long._

 _In the meantime, I'm going to ask a favour. Please tell me in your reviews (Hint! Hint!) or PMs which of my stories you would like to see extended by further chapters. Or other suggestions. Looking forward to your comments._

 _Thank you._

 _Bye for now._

 _WvonB_


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